Final Betrayal
by lunasgathering39
Summary: Takes place after BUABS. A salt and burn in Texas leads to another betrayal, one that could break Dean once and for all. Finally complete!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I tried to hold off posting my new story until I had the ending set. But the end is eluding me for now. I am hoping my muse will play nice soon. Sorry the first chapter is short. Later chapters will be longer. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: No Winchesters in my possession. Sad but true.

* * *

The day was gloomy, unseasonably cool for early fall in Central Texas. The sky was overcast, the smell of rain in the air. Weather to perfectly match the mood of both Winchesters. Loading the last of their stuff in the trunk of the Impala, Sam watched as Dean went to the motel office to check out, his slight limp the only visible reminder of all they'd endured on this hunt. Visible to the rest of the world that is. Sam could tell how much he was still hurting even if Dean thought he was hiding it from his little brother. They still hadn't discussed what happened. Knowing how the older hunter felt about "chick flick moments," it would be only after Sam screamed, begged and annoyed the truth from him, in that order. It always came down to being annoying. But Sam always won in the end. _Stubborn idiot!_

After one last sweep of the room, making sure nothing suspicious or incriminating was left to put the Feds on their tails again, he stowed his laptop in the front seat of the car. They hadn't found another job yet and Dean was anxious to get the hell out of Dodge, even without a specific destination in mind. This meant he needed to find another job quickly or spend several evenings at some dive bar while his brother hustled pool, hoping to avoid yet another bar brawl when he hustled the wrong local. Or end up in a motel room alone while Dean was otherwise engaged. Or both.

However, the sight of his brother walking back made him think maybe a distraction was what Dean needed right now. Head down, shoulders hunched, he wasn't his usual exuberant self after a successful hunt. Gone was the fire in his eyes and the smile that could charm every female in a room. In fact, he still looked exhausted. Though, truth be told, the older hunter hadn't been himself since their father died, trading his soul for Dean's life. He might never fully recover from that.

"The car's loaded. Any idea which way we'll head?" _Did he just flinch? He can't even look in this direction._

"Not really. As long as it's not here, I'm good."

"Want me to drive?" _Damn, he definitely flinched that time._

"Nah, I've got it. Maybe later though."

Sam was really starting to worry about his big brother, usually the stronger one. He didn't look up once and even seemed to shrink into himself a bit more with the last question. Usually an offer to drive his baby earned Sam a dirty look and a growl of irritation. He knew he'd have to find a way to fix this, to show Dean it was ok to trust again. And hope it was true.

* * *

A simple salt and burn. Like they ever had a simple one. Simple didn't exist for Winchesters. Something always went wrong. This time worse than Dean could've ever predicted. This simple salt and burn sent his world into absolute chaos, destroying his sanctuary. _Wish we'd never taken this case._

Dean threw the last of his belongings in his duffel bag, trying to ignore the surreptitious glances from his little brother. He knew Sam was just making sure he was ok, but the constant mothering was stifling. He had to get a few minutes to himself even if it was just to check out of the motel. Heading out the door, Dean knew his brother was still watching, looking for any hint of a problem. He could hide everything but the pain in his leg. That would take much longer to heal and there was no way in hell they were staying that long.

Rounding the corner out of Sam's sight, Dean stopped to catch his breath, leaning on the wall for support. The short walk to the office took more out of him than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Even after two weeks in the hospital, he still had problems breathing and exhausted easily. A wave of dizziness made him realize being alone wasn't such a great idea. The last thing he wanted was to pass out with no help around. He checked out of the room and headed back, determined to put the hunt and all its complications behind him. He was tired and knew it showed, though he'd never say it to Sam. The kid had enough to worry about. Nothing like a warning you might turn evil to stress a person. Dean never wanted to tell his brother the secret their father burdened him with right before he died. But Sam used every trick in his arsenal to get the truth.

_Dad told me to watch out for you. He said I had to save you. And if I couldn't, I …I had to kill you. He said I'd have to kill you._

Dean thought sharing the secret would make a lighter load, but he was wrong. It only added guilt to the fear. And agony as he watched Sam fight what he thought was his destiny. Sam had been pissed, more than Dean thought possible, that he kept something so important a secret. He made Dean promise to do as their dad asked if it looked like he was turning dark side, as he put it. In another moment of weakness, the older hunter did promise. But when Sam was possessed by a demon mere weeks ago, Dean couldn't do what he asked. Even took a bullet himself rather than kill his brother. In fact, the bullet wound in his left shoulder was barely healed before they started this hunt. It still hurt. But it hurt less than watching his brother pull the trigger, fire the shot that plunged him off the pier. _Not Sam, that demon bitch Meg!_

Dean watched Sam load his laptop in the front seat of the car and was glad he'd come out of this last hunt unscathed. Well, mostly unscathed. Sam managed to avoid a stay in the hospital. At least it hadn't been Sam that tried to kill him this time. That was worse than when the Yellow-Eyed Demon sliced Dean open like a Thanksgiving turkey while possessing their father, leaving Dean to beg him not to let the demon kill him. No, this betrayal was one he never saw coming. He'd lost the ability to trust the one constant in his crazy life.

This betrayal almost succeeded where his brother and father failed. Technically had since his heart stopped for a full three minutes on the way to the hospital. But the betrayal broke his heart in more than one way because it was his baby, his beautiful '67 Chevy Impala that tried to kill him this time.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I've never actually been to the town of Glen Rose, TX. I doubt my description will resemble the real thing at all. I chose it simply for the nifty Dinosaur Park. This is also posted without a beta, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

**One Year Earlier**

Sherry never considered herself a superstitious person. But she'd lived in Glen Rose long enough, heard more than enough stories, to believe they were mere coincidences. So many accidents at the same intersection had to have a cause. She usually avoided it, driving the back way to work. She was running late again. If she didn't get there on time she'd lose her job. And jobs weren't easy to come by these days.

_I would have the one boss in town who cares more about punctuality than how much work gets done once we arrive._ Sherry's boss wouldn't care that her daughter decided to play hide and seek with the car keys. No, better to risk the legendary "killer crossing" than her job.

Slowing to stop at the light, she realized she was halfway home. All the fatal crashes she'd heard about were someone not paying attention, not making sure it was clear before pulling out. She still remembered the crash from a year ago. The news for days showed the mangled car that crashed into the side of an 18-wheeler, killing the driver on impact.

_Just make sure to take it slow when the light changes._

Without warning, her car lurched forward like she'd been slammed from behind. There was no one behind her. No matter how hard she pushed the brake, she couldn't stop the car moving forward into oncoming traffic. She pulled the emergency brake and turned the off ignition, which did nothing to stop the car's forward momentum. She couldn't even open the door or roll down the window. Screaming frantically for help from anyone, the last thing Sherry saw was her car barreling into a school bus, thankfully empty of children.

* * *

**One Month Earlier**

"Dude, we should check out the dinosaur park while we're here," Dean suggested as they passed a billboard advertising Dinosaur Valley State Park.

"Are you serious?"

_Nope. Not buying it, are you Sammy?_ Dean knew Sam wouldn't agree, but would try anything to cheer the kid up. He'd been more moody than usual since the whole possession thing. Then again, having some demon use you to kill a fellow hunter, use a friend as bait, and try to kill your big brother, the only family you had left, would make anyone a little cranky. Dean was running out of ideas to make Sam realize he didn't hold any of it against him.

"Yeah, who knows? Maybe we'll find the first prehistoric poltergeist." That at least earned Dean a smile and a small laugh.

"We should probably worry about the dangerous one for now. Take care of it before it can hurt anyone else."

"Way to ruin my good mood killjoy. Ok, what do we know so far?"

"The article on the accident made it seem like our kind of deal, so I dug a little deeper. This town has had dozens of car accidents in the last ten years, more than normal for a town of just over two thousand people. And most of them occurred at the same intersection." Dean noticed that his brother seemed more animated now than he had in days. _Maybe I'm finally rubbing off. A hunt might be exactly what he needs._

"Why does this seem like our kind of gig? The intersection is probably right by a high school."

"Before the last victim, a woman named Sherry Edwards, died she told the cops that her car was pushed into the intersection. No one saw a car behind her and there was no damage to her rear bumper. But, get this, the emergency brake was pulled and the keys weren't in the ignition. Witnesses saw her trying to get out of the car, both hands off the wheel. The car rammed a school bus at full speed with no help from the driver. Luckily the bus was empty or the wreck could've been much worse."

"You're right. That definitely sounds like our kind of weird."

"The same intersection, called the Killer Crossing by locals, has had over 60 reported accidents, this last one making the tenth with a fatality. The ones where a death occurred happened on the same day at the same time. One a year for the last ten years. The next accident should happen in four days."

"Sounds like an angry spirit to me. We haven't had a salt and burn in a while. Any idea yet who's causing the trouble?"

"A couple, but I want to make sure. What do you want to do first? Get a room or go to the library?" Dean knew that was Sam's way of letting him out of the research portion of this hunt. He would accept without argument. The extended distraction for the younger hunter was what the doctor ordered.

"I'll drop you at the library and get a room there," he said, pointing to the cheap motel they'd just passed. "Then I can unpack and find a place for lunch while you do your geek-boy thing. Don't take forever."

It took Dean less than five minutes to stow their gear in the room and another ten to start going stir crazy. The décor had to be the cheesiest they'd seen in a while. Obviously for the tourists, the wallpaper was an awful shade of yellow covered in several different kinds of dinosaurs. The beds were only a little less distracting with one big, green dinosaur across the brown comforter. It was going to be very hard to sleep in the room with so many eyes staring back. _Sam will just love this room. Bet he could even tell me which kind of dinosaur was which._

Since waiting was never one of his strong suits, he decided to do a little recon of the small town. They'd need to know where the cemeteries were as well as places to eat and the right bars to earn a little cash. The less they needed to depend on bogus credit cards, the better.

Glen Rose, Texas was no different from the hundreds of small towns they'd been to in their years of hunting. It has a couple of major streets, including the highway running through the town, where the majority of businesses were situated. An odd mix of corporate chains and mom and pop shops, it was typical middle class America, complete with tourist trap to keep the town alive.

Having found an acceptable diner, bar and the three local cemeteries, Dean realized driving the entire town didn't kill enough time. He'd have to go help at the library after all. _Oh, well. Maybe one of the librarians will be hot._

A block from the library, stuck at a light that seemed to take forever, he was grateful for one thing. Though Texas towns had way too many country music stations, Glen Rose being no exception, they all had at least one completely devoted to classic rock. "Highway to Hell", currently blaring from the Impala's speakers, made the wait bearable. That and the group of women across the street admiring him and his baby. Though in retrospect, he should have seen that as a sign of things to come.

Breaking from the group was a small child, a little blond-haired girl of maybe three years. She was walking directly into traffic, none of the women taking notice. Dean threw his car into park and jumped out, trying to get someone's attention. The child, oblivious to everything around her, looked like she was reaching out for something that no one else could see. He knew he'd never make it to her, but he would still try. Narrowly avoiding being hit as well, Dean saw movement and realized someone else did get to the little girl in time. Squealing tires, screams, and the slight crunch of metal on metal told him an accident wasn't completely avoided. The car managed to swerve and miss the child and her rescuer, but it did hit another car.

_My baby, he hit my baby!_

Dean was fully prepared to ream the guy for damaging the Impala until he saw who rescued the girl and that he lay unmoving on the pavement. The rest of the world ceased to register in his senses.

"Sam!" _Oh my god, Sam! Please be ok._

He just reached Sam when he started to sit up. He had a gash on his head that was bleeding, but looked fine otherwise. The kid was crying, but didn't seem to have a scratch on her.

"Hey, Sam. You ok?" Dean took a deep breath, swallowing the panic that threatened to overtake him only moments ago. Helping his brother stand, he checked the gash, noting it wasn't even deep enough to need stitches.

"I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me."

"You sure?" Sam just nodded, then winced. The cut might not be deep, but Dean knew from experience that head wounds always equaled headaches. "How's the girl?"

Now that Dean knew Sam was alright, the noises he'd blocked slammed back into focus, blocking out Sam's response. The driver of the car, sirens in the distance approaching quickly, the traffic stuck behind the accident, and the women screaming frantically momentarily overwhelmed his senses. One woman, a petite blond in designer everything and obviously the girl's mother, separated from the group and snatched the child from Sam's arms.

"She's ok. Just a bit shaken up," Sam informed the woman. Then mumbled what sounded to Dean a lot like "you're welcome."

Ignoring Sam completely, the woman said, "Brittany, you know you aren't supposed to wander away. You scared mommy to death!" This made the girl cry harder.

Dean wanted to shake the stupid woman. No child that young would understand what just happened, much less that she'd done anything wrong. It took all of his self control not to tell her as much. From what he could tell, Sam was just as frustrated.

"Jacob, get over here now!" A boy of eight or nine, just as fair-haired as his mother and sister, meekly rushed to his mother's side, head bowed to avoid her gaze. "You were supposed to be watching your sister. How could you—"

"Don't you do that!" The tone of Dean's voice was murderous, jaw and fists clenched in barely contained anger.

"Excuse me? What business—" her tirade was cut short by another angry tone, but not from Dean.

"Don't you dare blame him for this. He's just a child. You're the parent, not him," Sam responded in a tone identical to Dean's, anger just as close to the surface. Dean wondered if his brother was remembering their childhood. How blame for things always fell to Dean, blame he accepted as part of his responsibility for protecting his baby brother.

"Who do you think you are talking to me like that?"

"I think I'm the person who just saved your daughter's life because you were too busy checking out the hot guy in the muscle car, who also risked his life."

_Damn, Sammy. I am rubbing off._ Trying to suppress a smirk, he noticed several people in the growing crowd nodding in agreement, including one of the woman's friends.

The arrival of the cops kept her from responding, which probably saved her life. But she still had the nerve to look angry. While the police were directing traffic and getting witness statements, Dean let Sam know what alias they were registered under at the motel and went to check the damage to his car.

_Not too bad. Just a headlight and maybe the headlight door._

The driver of the other car, a man in his mid-fifties, approached him hesitantly. "It's not bad, is it? This car is a beauty. I'd hate to think I caused her too much damage." Offering his hand, he said, "Hey. I'm Marcus. Marcus Bowden."

Taking the offered hand, he answered, "Dean Burgess. It looks like it's just a headlight. Which is a small price to pay for you not hitting my little brother."

"Brother, huh? I'm glad he's alright. He seems like a nice kid, quite the hero. We were very lucky this time."

"This time?" Though Dean knew the answer before the question left his lips.

"I usually avoid this intersection. Traffic was backed up at all my alternate routes, so I took a chance. This is what I get for being impatient."

"So this is the Killer Crossing I've heard about? Is it as bad as they say?"


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks for reading and all the great reviews. This chapter has a little something borrowed from MuffyMorrigan. Hope I do the Heather Hunt proud!_

As luck would have it, good luck for a change, the man who'd run into the car turned out to be a mechanic. He felt so bad about the accident, he insisted on fixing the car at no charge. The Impala was being repaired at Marcus' garage and he was treating them to lunch at a diner across the street. While Marcus and his brother talked about the car, Sam processed what he'd just survived.

Most of it was a blur. However, those few seconds when he was certain he wouldn't get to the girl in time were slow motion and crystal clear. If things had gone the way they usually do, he wouldn't even have been at the intersection at the right time. Research normally took hours of searching newspaper articles and death records. The librarian, thinking Sam was a reporter, was only too eager to share what she knew. Apparently the Killer Crossing was already local legend, one that almost everyone in town experienced first hand and couldn't wait to tell strangers about. The only thing Heather didn't know was where the victims of the original crash were buried. But she did give Sam her cell number in case he had any more questions.

_Ok fine Dean, you were right. All Heathers are hot._

Since the research took almost no time, Sam figured he'd walk back to the motel so they could get some lunch before locating the right cemetery. Standing at a stoplight waiting for his turn to cross, he heard a small group of women giggling about some guy and his car. He noticed one of them pointing and just rolled his eyes. Dean didn't even have to try. Girls were naturally attracted to him. _Yeah, like a moth to the flame._

Preparing to get his brother's attention, Sam noticed a panicked look in his direction as Dean hopped out of the car. A quick look around told Sam what the anxious look was for. A small child was wandering into traffic. Hunter instincts kicking in, he reacted without a second thought. He darted into traffic himself, grabbed the girl mere seconds before the oncoming car would've hit her.

He hit the pavement hard enough to be winded, the child's weight pressing on his chest. But it had been worth it. She was uninjured, not a mark on her. In those few seconds he tried to catch his breath, he heard the squeals, the crash, and the screams. He knew Dean was fearing the worst and did his best to alleviate his brother's fears. Sitting up, seeing how close the car came, he realized how lucky both he and the girl were. It could've been so much worse. Even the gash on his head didn't hurt much. He'd barely managed to stand and reassure Dean they were ok before a woman snatched the kid from his arms without so much as a thank you for saving her.

"You're welcome," he muttered, certain she wouldn't hear. He wasn't as quiet as he thought, judging from the sympathetic look from his brother. Dean was hypersensitive where Sam was concerned. From there the situation went downhill and just made his head hurt.

Bringing his concentration back to the conversation, he realized he hadn't missed much. They were still talking about the Impala, Dean's precious baby. Though, truth be told, Sam was almost as happy that the car wasn't too badly damaged. Not that he'd ever admit it to Dean. After all they'd lost in their lives, the car was the last constant in Sam's world besides his brother. It was their home.

_If I even hinted at that, I would never hear the end of it_, Sam thought smiling to himself. Memories of the crash that almost took Dean and the Impala, his whole life, came unbidden to him. Bobby told him there wasn't enough of the car to bother towing, to scrap it. He still couldn't shake the feeling that giving up on the car was the same as giving up on Dean. Which just wasn't an option. Ever.

After Dean's miraculous recovery and the loss of their father, rebuilding the car was the one thing that allowed them both a little time to heal. Losing the Impala would be like losing family. Realizing the table was quiet, he noticed Marcus step out of the diner talking insistently into his cell phone. Then noticed Dean staring at him.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing broken, not much bruised. Did I miss anything important?"

"Nah, just car talk. His garage has an old Caprice out back, so we won't even have to wait on a part to arrive. The car should be ready as soon as we're done here. Did you get anything good at the library? Which reminds me, why weren't you still there? Research always takes forever."

"The librarian, Heather, told me almost everything we need to know. Didn't have to crack a single book." Noticing the look from his brother, Sam knew he was going to enjoy the next few minutes immensely. Dean had come up with the theory he could tell how attractive a woman would be by her name. He'd decided all Heathers were hot and started the Heather Hunt to prove his point. So far he hadn't been wrong.

"Heather? You found a Heather in the middle of Nowhere, Texas? That's my boy. She was hot, wasn't she? Did you get her number?"

"You'll have to decide for yourself. She took her picture when she put her number in my phone." _Now comes the fun part._

Handing Dean his phone, Sam patiently waited for him to open the phone book. The flabbergasted look on Dean's face was well worth the wait.

"Seven different Heathers here? You've been holding out on me, you sly dog! Wait, I recognize this girl from that town in North Carolina. How did I miss that?"

"Well, if you'd bothered to ask her name at some point in your 'date', you might've known. By the way, she says I'm better than you."

"Wh—wait a minute, huh?" Sam tried to hide a smirk and failed. He could tell Dean's brain was trying to work its way around that one. He looked like he couldn't decide whether Sam was lying or not.

"You're totally lying! She's not even your type."

"You keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll believe it eventually." The flurry of emotions crossing his brother's face made Sam laugh out loud, releasing the last of the tension from the accident. This just frustrated Dean even more. Luckily the discussion was cut short by Marcus' return.

"Ok boys. Where were we? Oh, right. The Killer Crossing legend." Marcus proceeded to tell them exactly what Sam heard from Heather a little while ago.

* * *

**Eleven years earlier**

Suzanne ran as quickly as she could from the house, her car already loaded with the few belongings she didn't want to leave behind. After months of abuse, she finally told Lonnie she couldn't be with him anymore. She realized his abusive behavior wasn't going to get any better, only worse. And it wasn't just the abuse. He was getting into some weird, scary stuff. Stuff she wanted no part of. He was furious, even threatened to kill her if she left. Which is why she hid his car keys before heading to the police station.

The closer she got to town, the safer she felt. She was pretty sure he wouldn't try anything crazy in broad daylight in front of witnesses. Sitting at the light at the main freeway through town she checked the rear view mirror and breathed a small sigh of relief. It would be short-lived. Just moments before the neighbor's huge truck slammed into her compact car, she saw it in the mirror approaching at an alarming rate. She didn't even have time to pull the emergency brake before her car was forced into oncoming traffic. The last thing she saw was the terrified expression of the passenger as her car impacted with theirs, her last thought, _Oh my god, he's just a kid!_

* * *

"So let me get this straight, Sam. The ghost in this scenario is just some poor girl trying to escape a psycho boyfriend?"

"Yeah, the details fit. All of the fatality accidents happened the same way. A woman's car is forced into traffic, the same day and same time that Suzanne MacDonald was killed by Lonnie Stiger."

Dean was pretty sure Sam was right, but he wanted to make sure they didn't miss anything. Too many cases that should've been a simple salt and burn ended badly because they missed one detail. Well that and the infamous Winchester luck. "What about the victim in the other car? Or the psycho?"

"The other victim doesn't fit the pattern. He wasn't even driving, just a twelve year old kid. The boyfriend didn't die in the crash. He's currently serving his sentence on death row at Huntsville. Everything points to Suzanne reenacting her death."

"Ok, so we find out where she's buried and get this done quickly. That'll give us a few days to recover from whatever she does to us and make sure it worked." Dean noticed Sam was looking a little unsure. "What's up, Sammy?"

"It's Sam. And...I don't know. I wish there was a way to make her stop without having to burn her bones. She was the victim in this. It doesn't seem fair."

"I know. Sometimes this job can suck out loud. We don't have to like it, but if we don't do it, someone else will die in four days." He hated the way his brother took everything to heart, let all the jobs get to him. _If he didn't, he wouldn't be Sam._

"Guess that means another trip to the library. Maybe Heather will still be there."

"Oh, ha ha. Very funny!" He had to admit. Sam had gotten him good. Dean still wasn't sure if he was joking about that girl or not. In all honesty, he didn't think he wanted to know. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

"We can walk to the library. It's not that far and I'm not risking my baby again so soon after getting her fixed."

* * *

After finding the necessary information, they decided to check out the cemetery, find her grave, and mark it to make it easier to find at night. The less complications, the better. Afterwards, they checked their supplies, gathered what gear they'd need, and relaxed in the room until it was late enough to dig a grave uninterrupted. Dean spent the time cleaning his already pristine guns while Sam did a little more searching online to make sure they hadn't missed anything. This case seemed way too easy to both of them.

At about midnight they headed out. The cemetery was quiet, as expected. They decided to take turns digging while the other stood watch. They weren't sure how Suzanne would react and didn't want to take any chances. It was during Dean's second turn at digging that he hit solid wood. He opened the casket and stepped out of the huge hole. Pouring salt and lighter fluid on the bones, he was tensed for trouble, fully expecting it. If not for that alert state, he might've missed the small sound from his brother.

"Dean," Sam whispered. Turning to his brother's voice, he saw the last thing he expected. Suzanne was petite, long brown hair flowing freely behind her, a sadness in her eyes. Standing a few feet from Sam, she wasn't moving to hurt him. She was smiling. Then she approached Dean, turned to face her grave, and said thank you before she backed away to watch.

"Huh? Guess there's a first time for everything."

Dean turned, lit the matchbook, and threw it in the open grave. Instead of the usual angry screams when they put a spirit to rest, they both heard a light sob, then nothing.

"Dude, I'm a little confused here. If she was an angry spirit, why let us burn her bones without a fight. If she wasn't an angry spirit, why all the accidents? That was too weird. Did we miss something?"

"I'm just as confused as you on this one, Dean. We'll have to keep a close watch on the intersection and hope this was the right spirit."

"Why not just go dig up the other victim's grave in case we were wrong?"

"I found the obituaries from the original accident. Suzanne was buried here. The boy who died, Wesley Oram, was cremated. No grave, no bones to burn."

"Son of a bitch! Alright. Guess all we can do is wait. I think I need a drink."

* * *

Word traveled quickly why the brothers were in town, to write a book about Southern hauntings. No one questioned their frequent visits to the Killer Crossing. In fact, many people offered their own experiences, hoping to see their names in print. Sam was pretty sure it was Heather, not Marcus, that spread that information. Though it made watching the intersection for trouble easier, it also made doing their job uninterrupted nearly impossible.

With three days of waiting, no wounds to recover from, Dean quickly got bored. Sam even agreed to the earlier suggestion of the Dinosaur Park. This did nothing to improve his brother's mood. It turned out the park didn't have dinosaur bones, only fossilized prints. Lots of them. No chance of a dinosaur spirit held no interest for Dean. Not even his usual nights at the bar held any interest. Thankfully, the wait was almost over. If they'd burned the wrong bones, they would know by 9:49 that morning. Unfortunately, if they were wrong, there wasn't anything that could prevent an accident. _I really hope we got this right._

They'd been eating meals at a little family-owned restaurant on the corner. The best indication they had so far that it truly was over came from listening to the regular customers. Most hoping something small would happen for "the book people" kept talking about how strangely uneventful things were the last few days. No minor fender benders. No unexpected light changes. Nothing. This went quite far in calming Sam's fears. They should have enough time to eat a light breakfast at the cafe next door before the deadline.

"I can't wait for this to be over, Sam. I miss driving my baby. There's no way I'm taking chances with her until we know for sure this is done."

_Yeah sure, Dean. Your baby is the only thing you're worried about. I know how on edge you've been. I also know if anything goes wrong today, you'll blame yourself._ "It will be nice to get out of here. Any idea where we'll head next?"

"I thought we might head up to Fort Worth. It's less than an hour away. Big towns make it easier to hide from the Feds and to hustle a little pool without pissing off the locals. Plus those rich college kids are so easy to hustle."

"Sounds good. I haven't been to a decent bookstore in a while."

"Bookstore? You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not kidding. I happen to enjoy them. That is how I met Jessica."

"Really? You never told me that. I didn't think hot chicks went to bookstores."

"Attractive, intelligent women do, Dean. Anyway, she was in the cafe reading something for her philosophy class. I tripped over her book bag and almost spilled my latte on her. We struck up a conversation about her book. Two months later we were roommates."

"Not bad, Sammy. Ok, you can go to your bookstores. Count me out though. We should head outside. It's almost time and I'm itching to get on the road."

They quickly paid the check, not wanting to miss any sign they'd completed the job. Only two minutes left, the traffic was flowing smoothly, to the consternation of a few onlookers. Thirty seconds from the appointed time, Sam saw something that reassured him they'd burned the right bones.

"Dean," he whispered, not wanting to attract outside attention. "Can you see her?" Standing in the center of the intersection, Suzanne smiled and waved.

"Whoa! Yeah, I can," Dean whispered in response, obviously not wanting anyone else to hear their conversation either. "But I think we're the only ones who can. She looks so happy." They both watched as she faded in a beautiful glow of white light. "I think that's the first time a spirit wanted us to get rid of them."

Sam was reluctant to look away, to break the spell her appearance had on them. It felt good to know they were right and for once the spirit was happy to move on. _Maybe this job doesn't always suck._ His brother lightly slapping his shoulder brought Sam out of his reverie.

"Case closed. You know, it's about time we had an honest-to-god simple salt and burn. It is kind of weird not to have even a few bruises to show for our work. Time to find you that bookstore, little brother."

Sam couldn't shake the feeling they still had unfinished business here. He knew this intersection was safe again, but an indistinct feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Much like the time the psychic Missouri had assured him their old house was free of a malevolent spirit that hadn't actually left, he just felt things weren't right yet. The walk back to the motel did nothing to alleviate those fears. He still felt they'd missed something. Something important.

"Sam? You listening to me over there?"

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't realize his brother was talking. "Sorry, Dean. What were you saying?"

"Nothing really. What's got you so distracted?"

"Just thinking."

"I could see that. About what?"

Someday Sam would learn not to let his emotions show so clearly on his face. Though he doubted he'd ever learn to hide them completely from his brother. Dean's spidey-sense when it came to Sam was a little unnerving at times. And comforting. No one else knew him like his big brother. Not even Jessica. Certainly not their father.

"This case. It seemed too easy, like we missed something." He didn't want to admit it was nothing more than a vague feeling. His "shining" was already enough of an issue.

Arriving back at the room, Dean headed for the car while Sam grabbed the bags they'd packed before going to breakfast. He wanted to believe this case was over. He wanted that feeling in the pit of his stomach to go away. His thoughts were interrupted again, this time as _Get Drunk and Be Somebody_ blared at top volume from the Impala. The country song ended almost as quickly as it began.

"Sam!" he hollered as he came back to the room.

"Don't look at me. I haven't been in the car since we got to town. Maybe it was Marcus?"

"You know, if you want to start the practical jokes again..."

"No! It took forever for that itch to go away. I'm telling you it wasn't me. I swear!"

The last thing Sam wanted was more itching powder in his shorts. Though the sight of Dean with a beer bottle stuck to his hand was priceless. They'd managed to stop the jokes before things got too bad that time.

"Well, I'm keeping my eye on you. My hand hurt for a week after all that super glue. Let's stop for some coffee at that little diner by the garage. The stuff at breakfast was gross."

They ended up getting coffee and donuts. The food hadn't been any better than the coffee. No sooner had they gotten back into the car than Dean was griping about the mirrors.

"I'm serious about the practical jokes. And screwing with the mirrors is amateur class." He started the car and the radio blared again, this time _Achy Breaky Heart._

"Damn it, Sam!"

"I got out of the car before you! I swear it wasn't me. Maybe your baby decided she likes country music." Sam forced himself to hide a smirk from the disgusted look that comment elicited from his brother. He didn't want to make the situation worse.

"Dude, that's not even funny!"

* * *

Staring under the hood, Dean still couldn't believe his luck. They'd barely made it five miles out of town when the car sputtered and died. And refused to start again. _What the hell? Marcus said it was fixed. I checked everything myself. What's wrong with my car now? This can't be from the accident_.

"Hey, Marcus. This is Dean. We're a few miles from town. I could use a tow." Dean hated letting a tow truck anywhere near his baby, but they had no other choice. "It stalled and won't start again. I'll be damned if I know why. It won't even turn over." He told Marcus where they were and hung up angrily.

"What the hell!?" Staring under the hood, hoping to find the cause just frustrated him even more. He couldn't see a single thing wrong. Realizing it was an exercise in futility, Dean stormed back to the car to wait for the mechanic.

"Did Marcus have any suggestions as to what's wrong with the car?" Sam seemed sincerely worried about the car, which surprised Dean. He wasn't in the mood for jokes. He was silently grateful that his brother knew how much this was bothering him.

"No, he just said he'd come get us. I guess this is what I get for letting someone else work on her. I should've done the work myself." He knew he was being silly. It was only a headlight. But the car was running fine before the accident. It seemed like too much of a coincidence to him.

"All he replaced was a headlight, right? I don't see how that could have caused this."

"I know, but the car was running fine before the accident," distractedly voicing his thoughts. "It's too coincidental."

The wait would be a quiet one. Dean wasn't in the mood to talk. Sam didn't push. Even the radio refused to work. Fifteen minutes later, Marcus arrived in the tow truck. Dean was glad the man came himself and not the kid who worked for him. The older man understood the Impala was a delicate piece of machinery. He would treat her with the proper respect.

"Hey, Dean. Figure out what's wrong with her yet?"

"Not a clue. She doesn't seem to be getting any power, but I checked the battery and the alternator. They're both working fine. It doesn't make any sense. If you don't mind, I'd like to be the one to do the work. Just tow her to the garage. I'll take it from there." Dean didn't want to insult the man, but he needed to fix it himself to be certain it was done right.

"Sure thing, kid. I understand. If this baby was mine, I'd feel the same way. Mind a sidekick, though? I'd love another look under the hood. They don't make 'em like this anymore."

"That's cool. It would be nice to have a second opinion and Sam's no use at all with car repairs."

* * *

Sam decided a walk was in order. Dean was still under the hood three hours later, trying to figure out why the car wouldn't start. He'd exhausted all ideas and his extensive vocabulary of expletives to no avail. Marcus ran out of ideas after only an hour and went back to his paying customers.

"Hey, Dean. I'm going to head back to the motel and get us a room for a couple of nights."

After a growl of frustration, Dean poked his out from under the hood and said, "Only one night, Sam. I don't plan on being here any longer than that."

"Yeah, because you know how well our plans usually work. I'll be in the room when you've finished here."

"The room? I'm going to be here a while. Why not do something fun?"

"Not tonight. There's something I want to check out. Something still doesn't feel right."

"Why is this 'feeling' just coming up now? If you thought we weren't done here, you should've said something. So what's up?"

"That's just it. I don't know. I didn't bring it up before because I thought I was being paranoid. It's only a feeling, like our old house, like Lawrence, though not that strong. I think if I can find out why Suzanne was replaying her death, this will feel done."

"Ok, but let me know if you find anything."

"I will. Don't stay here too much longer. We haven't eaten since breakfast. Maybe a little food and time away from the car will help you figure out what's wrong." Sam went to retrieve his laptop from the trunk. Sitting here watching his brother fume wasn't going to fix the car any faster. And it was extremely boring. He barely had his hands free of the trunk before it slammed closed. "Man, that was close!"

"Dude, what are you doing back there? And don't slam the trunk so hard."

It was Sam's turn to growl in frustration. "I was getting my laptop. And I didn't slam the trunk! It fell on its own almost taking a couple of my fingers with it."

"You ok?"

"I'm fine. See you back at the room." _That was weird. The trunk's never fallen closed like that before._ Sam headed out, trying not to let his paranoia get the better of him.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks again for all the great reviews. Now to the action of the story and a few answers._

Watching Sam's retreating form, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. All the staring and sighing made it hard to focus. It was driving him crazy. He was surprised the kid had lasted that long. Another hour later, he still didn't have a clue why the car wouldn't start. He'd checked every wire, hose, and connection in the car. Nothing was frayed, leaking, or broken. The car should be running perfectly. It simply refused to start. It made no sense at all.

"Come on, baby. Don't do this to me." Reaching in to grab the last of his tools, his instincts sensed the trouble before he heard it. He was able to snatch his hands back seconds before the hood slammed shut.

"What the hell is up with my car!?" _Maybe Sam was right. Have some dinner and figure this out later._

Loading the last of his tools into the toolboxes and stowing them in the trunk, Dean decided to try to start the car one more time. It couldn't hurt to hope the last of his tinkering solved the problem. The look of shock on his face when it did start would've been comical had anyone been there to see it. As it was, the look was quickly replaced with relief. A lingering worry in the back of his mind reminded him he still didn't know why the car stopped, much less why it was running again. That could be Sam's paranoia rubbing off on him. _We'll figure it out later. For now, my baby's running fine. _He pulled out his cell phone, dialing his brother's number.

"Hey, Sasquatch. You ready for that dinner now?"

"Did you get the car running? What was wrong?"

"Don't know exactly. Something must have come loose."

"Weird. You don't think it'll happen again?"

"I'm not sure of that either. For now let's not worry. We can cross that bridge when we come to it. I'll be right there." By the time he got back to the motel, Sam was waiting. "Find what you were looking for?" Dean was still occasionally freaked out by Sam's abilities. But he trusted his brother's instincts as much as his own, maybe even more. Not that he'd tell Sam that.

"I think so. I want to know what you think first."

"Cool, let's talk about this over dinner. I'm starved." Managing to avoid the dinner rush, it took no time to be seated and order. "Ok, what have you got?"

"I hacked into the local paper's files, the stuff they didn't publish. I did a search for files on Suzanne, what kind of a person she was. All of her friends, her family, and basically anyone who'd met her said she was sweet. She was kind, caring, and generous. No one had a negative thing to say about her. Except her choice of boyfriend."

"So what did they say about him?" Dean had a pretty good idea, had met a few girls recovering from that type of loser. He wasn't prepared, however, for how many buckets of crazy this guy was.

"The best friend says she was terrified for Suzanne's safety. She says that Lonnie was into cult stuff. When the cops arrested him, they did find lots of ritual items and books on dark magic at their home. They also found several animals buried in the back yard with obvious signs of ritual sacrifice."

"So you think he did something to Suzanne before killing her?"

"Possibly. Witnesses of the crash said he was screaming after the crash that she'd never leave. Not even in death. Dean, I think he cursed her, forcing her to relive her death. That she had no control over what was happening to her. He abused her even in death. I guess we freed her from the curse by burning her bones."

The sound of relief in Sam's voice tempered Dean's irritation with what happened with his car. It did feel good to know they'd set that poor girl free from her nightmare once and for all. As far as he was concerned, there should be a special place in hell set aside for sick bastards like Lonnie Stiger.

"Does this mean we can leave town knowing the job is done?" He really hoped this was what Sam's feeling was about. He was more than ready to leave Glen Rose, and really the whole state of Texas. Any more talk was put on hold as their dinner arrived.

* * *

After their quiet dinner, Dean opted to skip the bar scene. He'd hustled enough pool while they waited to see the results of the hunt. He needed the day to be over and to leave town. Dropping Sam at the room, he wanted to make a beer run. That and a few snacks while they found a new job were in order. Ten minutes later, he exited the store with beer, chips, beef jerky, something healthy for Sam, and peanut M&Ms. No snack run was complete for Dean without his peanut M&Ms.

Putting the bags in the back seat, he'd barely touched the handle of the front door when it flew open, smacking him squarely in the head. Assuming it caught in a strong breeze, he approached the door more cautiously, holding it in a firm grip before easing into the driver's seat. Dean could tell the hit broke the skin, feeling the trickle of blood down his forehead and nose. Turning to check how bad it was in the rear view mirror, he realized the mirrors were moved again.

"Damn it! I swear if I find country music on my radio..." Sure enough, when he started the car, the radio was blaring a Garth Brooks song. _How the hell am I going to explain this cut without looking like an idiot? Sam will never let me live this one down._

No good excuses coming to him on the drive back, he figured he's tell the truth and deal with the jokes. He hoped he could sneak in without Sam noticing. Or maybe he'd cut Dean some slack after the day they'd had. While getting out of the car, another breeze caught the door. This time it slammed the door on his calf.

"Son of a bitch!"

Grabbing the snacks, he exited the car as quickly as possible without causing himself further damage. He opened the door to the room, dropped the bags on the nearby table, and hoped to make it to the bathroom without Sam noticing the blood. No such luck this time.

"Dean, are you ok? What the hell happened to you?"

With a resigned sigh Dean said, "I'll tell you if you promise not to give me crap about it." He saw Sam's expression change from concern to curiosity and hoped telling the truth wasn't a bad idea. "A strong breeze caught the door of the car, caused it to open faster than I expected." No jokes followed his embarrassing admission. Not even a smirk. _Thanks, little brother._

"Go get a towel and I'll help clean it up." Noting the concern still in his brother's voice, he went to get the towel and get it over with. He didn't get far before Sam's words stopped him again.

"You're limping too? Are you sure you're ok?" The tone of his voice, Dean noticed, skipped concerned and went straight to worried.

_Crap, I forgot about that._ "I'm fine. The door closed on it. That's all. My ego is more bruised than my leg right now."

"That's all? I'll go get the first aid kit. Is it still in the trunk?"

"No!" Reigning in the sound of panic in his voice, he continued, "Let me get it." He didn't want to admit it to Sam, but he didn't want him near the car with all the accidents happening around it. Though by the look on his face, Dean wasn't fooling him. "Put the beer in the fridge. I'll be right back."

Approaching the Impala with more caution than was probably necessary, he opened the trunk and leaned in to get the first aid kit that coincidentally was now at the back of the trunk. The moment his fingers gripped the kit, the trunk slammed shut, hitting the back of his head and pinning him, the latch mere inches from impaling his side. He managed to pull himself free, first aid kit and all, and call for Sam before his world went black.

* * *

Sam had been more than happy to let Dean drop him off at the room before going to buy beer. He'd been irritable since the Impala started having problems. The fact that he couldn't find anything wrong frustrated him to no end. Enough to skip the bar. A frustrated Dean equaled a cranky Dean and usually a headache for Sam. So a beer run sounded like the best way to pull him out of his bad mood.

While his brother was out, Sam wanted to do some more research on this town. All of their problems seemed to happen right after the accident. He wanted to know if anyone else had similar experiences. Or if helping Suzanne pass on created more problems. Maybe it would help him to get rid of the feeling that still wouldn't go away.

By the time the car pulled up outside, the rumble of the old muscle car unmistakable, he had a couple of things he wanted to discuss. Dean entered the room and dropped the bags on the table, head bowed. Clearly he was trying to hide something, but what? It was the last thing Sam expected. _How do you go to the store and come back bleeding?_

"Dean, are you ok? What the hell happened to you?" From what he could tell, his brother wasn't in pain. He almost looked embarrassed.

"I'll tell you if you promise not to give me crap about it." Now Sam was a bit confused and curious why his brother thought he'd give him a hard time. The wound didn't look serious, but it was still a wound. And he knew for a fact that even a small head wound could hurt like hell.

"A strong breeze caught the door of the car, caused it to open faster than I expected." He noticed a small look of relief from Dean when he realized there would be no jokes.

"Go get a towel and I'll help clean it up." He noticed a slight limp when Dean started walking to the bathroom. Now he was starting to really worry. "You're limping too? Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine. The door closed on it. That's all. My ego is more bruised than my leg right now."

"That's all? I'll go get the first aid kit. Is it still in the trunk?" He hoped it was nothing more than a bruise.

"No! Let me get it." The momentary look of fear in Dean's eyes had Sam worried.

"Put the beer in the fridge. I'll be right back."

His hesitant steps back outside turned Sam's worry to fear. If he hadn't been alert for signs of trouble, he would've missed Dean's grunt of pain and shout. "Sam!"

What he saw made his heart skip a beat. Dean lay unmoving, face down on the pavement just behind his car. Rushing to his side, Sam could already see the fresh wound on the back of his head, bleeding much worse than the one on his forehead. _He didn't get this from hitting the cement. How--_

Suddenly the moment that afternoon when the trunk nearly slammed on his hands flashed in his mind. He knew what happened, but not why. With a gentle nudge, he tried to get his brother to come around.

"Dean? Hey, you with me man?" His answer, a low moan and an unfocused look.

"Sam, how did I end up on the ground? Oh, wait. I remember. Damn that hurt."

"Let me help you up." Putting a steadying hand on his back, Dean flinched at the touch. "Your back is hurt too? Let me look at it." The fact that Dean didn't argue told Sam how much he was hurting. Pulling up his shirts, he saw a red welt running horizontally across his back.

"Oh my god, Dean! Were you leaning into the trunk when it closed? We need to get you inside and check your ribs. Do they feel broken?"

"No, but I'll have a spectacular bruise there by morning." Though his eyes looked more focused, Sam was worried that his speech slurred a bit. He decided the new head wound was priority one.

Once Dean was patched up, Sam settled in to do research. None of what he'd been looking at fit what was happening now. They had to figure out what was wrong before things got serious.

"Dean, don't fall asleep on me yet. We still aren't sure if you got a concussion from that last hit."

"Dude, I told you I'm fine like a hundred times. Lay off already!"

"Yeah, except you'd say you were fine if you were missing a limb, so I can never tell if you're lying to me." He was relieved to hear his brother sounding more like his cranky self.

Looking at articles, reports, and photos from the accidents at the Killer Crossing brought him no closer to an answer. None of it made any sense. Not even the smaller accidents fit the facts. He was about to give up the search for the night when he came across a photo from the original crash. With all of the information handed to them, research on the original crash hadn't been necessary. They'd focused on what followed. The photo looked like it was taken almost immediately after the crash, before the cars were moved from the street. The front end of Suzanne's Civic was crushed almost to the interior. The car she'd hit was a much older car. It explained why only the passenger died.

The solid frame kept the car itself from severe damage. The older style of seat belts only held at the waist, which meant no shoulder straps to prevent head trauma. According to the article, the model of the car was a Chevy Caprice. It looked so much like the Impala. Color drained from Sam's face as he realized their problem._ I have to check this out before mentioning it to Dean. I hope I'm wrong about this._ All the extra research on Suzanne and all the other crashes wouldn't help now. He needed to check out the car Marcus took the headlight door from. He would need to talk to the driver of the Caprice about the accident too. Then he would break the bad news to his brother.

Sam spent a couple more hours finding out all he could about Wesley Oram and the person driving the Caprice. The more information he found, the more he was sure he'd found the source of his bad feeling. Wesley and his older brother were on their way to a football game for his twelfth birthday. Both parents died when he was ten, victims of a tornado. Scott, his older brother, had taken him to the storm shelter. They survived. Their home and family were gone in an instant. With no other relatives to help, Scott gave up a chance at college football to raise his little brother. Wesley had only been cremated because his brother couldn't afford a burial. After his brother's death, Scott took his own life, shutting himself in a friend's garage with his car running. He never forgave himself for not protecting his little brother.

The last bit of information caused Sam to look over at his big brother and wonder. _Would he do that? Would he just give up if I weren't here?_ He hoped the answer would be no, but couldn't be certain. He'd make sure they never needed to find out.

* * *

Sam was usually the first to wake. As luck would have it, today was no different. Luck and a few injuries. He hoped to talk with Marcus, get some breakfast, and be back before Dean woke. Leaving a note to keep his brother from worrying, he left as quietly as possible.

It took no time at all to walk to the garage. He only hoped it would be open so early. The sooner he had answers, the sooner they could fix things and leave. Marcus was turning on the open sign as he approached.

"Morning, Sam. What can I do for you?"

"Hi. I was hoping for a small favor. This may sound strange. May I see the car you took the headlight door from? The one you put in the Impala."

"Sure. Mind me asking why?"

"No, of course not. I was curious which parts are interchangeable with the Impala. Dean usually does his own repairs. I thought he might like to have a few spare parts stored away. I'd ask him, but I want it to be a surprise."

"You boys are pretty close, aren't you? I can't imagine my sister going to that much trouble."

"Yeah, and I know how much he loves his car."

Marcus took him to the salvage yard behind the garage and pointed him in the right direction. Way in the back, between an ugly blue Ford Escort and what was left of an old red pick-up truck, sat the object of his search. It was eerie how much the Caprice looked the Impala. Even the color was identical. It made the feeling that was residing in the pit of his stomach rise and lodge in his throat. He knew without looking that this was Scott Oram's car, the cause of the problems with the Impala. Nothing showed on the EMF, but that was normal. Ghosts were more active at night. _Or it could mean the spirit is no longer here. I really wanted to be wrong about this. How can I break this to Dean?_

Sam told the mechanic he would discuss the parts with his brother after all and thanked him for his time. He needed to grab breakfast, get back to the room, and check out the car before Dean woke. He managed to beat the morning rush and got back to the room in less than thirty minutes. Dean was still sound asleep with no signs of waking anytime soon.

Depositing the food on the table, Sam grabbed his bag and went back out to the car. No sooner had he turned on the EMF, than it lit up like a Christmas tree. _Looks like I was right. Damn! _Turning the machine off and returning to his bag, he headed to the trunk to get their father's journal. There were several incantations for exorcising spirits. He hoped one of them worked on an inanimate object. Because salting and burning the Impala was so not an option.

The blood on the ground a grim reminder of the night before, he took care that the trunk didn't close on him. In the bright light, more blood inside showed exactly where Dean's head met metal. The spot was bigger than he expected. One hand firmly held the trunk open while he searched for the journal. He came up empty. He could feel the pressure on his arm where it was trying to slam down again. Thinking back to the last time they needed the journal, he realized he'd left it in the car, more precisely under his seat.

The need for the incantations in the journal won out over caution. _Maybe I can fix this without Dean ever knowing there was a problem._ Sam hesitantly reached for the door, fully expecting it to open suddenly. When nothing happened, he felt confident enough to kneel down and reach under the seat. Alarms went off in his head seconds too late as the door shut on his back, pain causing him to seize up and gasp for breath. Determined to get the journal, he leaned in again, grabbed it, and rushed to get free. He almost succeeded. The door closed on his shoulder with enough force to make his head snap forward and hit the roof of the car. The last thing he remembered was clutching the journal close as he crumpled.

* * *

Dean was vaguely aware of the door opening again but was too tired to care. Not to mention movement woke the pain in his head and back. Asleep, he didn't have to feel or think about last night. However the last intrusion brought with it the aroma of coffee. He might be willing to venture from his cocoon of comfort for coffee. It was the smell of biscuits that sealed the deal. Rolling over gingerly, he realized his back was mostly just stiff. It was his head that pounded with every movement. Sitting up was a slow and painful process. Once up, the pain evened out. He decided some ibuprofen would go nicely with the coffee before he tried to move much more. Sam anticipated this and left two pain pills next to his cup. _Thanks, Sammy._

As he pulled the food containers from the bag, Dean thought he heard a familiar beeping noise. When it didn't repeat, he chalked it up to the headache. Two bites into his biscuits and gravy, he finally noticed Sam wasn't in the room. Before freaking out, he checked for a note. He found it under the other cup of coffee. The note said he left to get breakfast. Breakfast was there. So where was Sam? He heard the car's trunk shut. Question answered, he went back to his breakfast. If he were thinking clearly, that fact would've worried him. He hadn't been sure last night what was up with his car. As it was, he was fine knowing his brother was close. Five minutes later, his breakfast almost gone, he wondered aloud, "What the hell is he doing out there?"

The caffeine and ibuprofen finally kicked in, which made standing a possibility. He went to the door to see what his brother was doing. _Probably messing with my radio and mirrors again. I'll kick his ass._ All irritation and pain was forgotten at the sight of his brother on the ground, unconscious and bleeding. While rushing to his side, he quickly looked around for whoever might've gotten the drop on his brother. It wasn't like Sam to be that easily overtaken. Their father trained them too well. His first fear was that Gordon Walker escaped jail or sent another hunter to finish what he couldn't.

A cursory check of injuries found only two head wounds. No stab wounds, no bullets, nothing fatal. The cut on the front wasn't deep, the bleeding not even that bad. It was the one on the back that worried Dean. The blow to the front must've been hard enough that Sam wasn't fully conscious when he fell. He didn't try to brace himself and his head took the brunt of the fall.

"Sam? Dude, you gotta give me a sign here. Damn it Sam, wake up!" Dean started to panic. _Sam should've come around by now._ At least his breathing and heartbeat were strong and steady. He reached an arm under his brother's to pull him to a sitting position, when he finally noticed Sam had something in his hands. _Dad's journal? Why did he need that?_ The movement elicited no response, which only made his panic grow. He put the journal in Sam's bag and throwing it over his shoulder, he lifted them both to standing, attempting to ignore his pain for the time being. The walk to the room seemed to take forever. Sam's dead weight strained already sore muscles. His head felt like it would explode at any moment. All that mattered was making sure Sam was ok.

He laid Sam down on his bed and grabbed the first aid kit. The gash on the back of his head was bad enough to require four stitches. He talked to his brother the entire time he was patching him up, hoping for an answer. After the stitches, he checked thoroughly for other injuries, finding bruises forming on his lower back and shoulder. The lack of response through the whole process worried Dean more than he'd like to admit. _Please, Sam. You have to be ok. I need you to be ok._ He checked Sam's breathing and heartbeat again. Both remained steady. His biggest fear now was a concussion.

"Come on, man. If you don't give me something here, I will take you to the hospital."

Normally that wouldn't be an option, which showed how truly scared Dean was. They avoided hospitals unless it was extreme. He was reaching for his phone to call 911 when Sam finally started to come around. He was so relieved it was all he could do not to rush over and embarrass himself with a huge girlie hug. Sam most certainly wouldn't let him forget that. He settled for checking the head wounds again.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like crap. How did I get here?"

"You don't remember?" He noticed Sam looked confused, eyes not focused completely, speech slightly slurred. He hoped that would pass quickly.

"The last thing I remember clearly is going to see Marcus about something. Then I woke up here."

"You went to see Marcus? Well I know you stopped for breakfast on the way back. What I don't know is how you ended up unconscious in the parking lot. I was hoping you could tell me that."

"Wish I could. My head is killing me. How long was I out?"

"Long enough for me to give you four stitches." _And almost take you to the hospital._ "About fifteen minutes or so." I_t felt like hours._ "Think you could manage to eat some of your breakfast? You need to take some pain pills, the stronger ones, and those shouldn't be taken on an empty stomach. Especially one as delicate as yours."

"Give me a few minutes for the world to stop spinning and come into focus."

"Ok. Once you've eaten something, I'll go find out what you talked to Marcus about. Maybe it'll help you remember what happened afterwards, how you ended up hugging concrete. Any idea why you had Dad's journal when it happened?"

"I did? Hmm. It doesn't ring any bells. While you're gone I'll see if some of my research from last night triggers any memories. I'm pretty sure that something I found last night was why I wanted to see Marcus. I just wish I knew what."

"No going to sleep. The fact that you've lost some memories means you probably have a concussion." It concerned Dean that the memory loss went back as far as last night. "I won't be gone long and expect you to be awake when I get back. I'm not carrying your heavy ass to the hospital."

After having to carry Sam to the room, Dean's head and back were hurting again, along with the bruised leg he'd forgotten until that moment. The aches reminded him to hold the door firmly as he got in the car. Again the mirrors were moved and the radio was now playing easy listening.

"Ok, Celine Dion is the last straw! I don't care if you're injured, Sam. I will kick your ass for making me hear that stupid Titanic song." _Crap! Never admit I even know that song._

Minutes later he pulled up outside the garage. Marcus waved and headed over. "Hey, I see the baby is running again. So what was wrong with her?"

"Never did figure it out. Hope it never happens again though. Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Sam came by earlier. What did he talk with you about? He's been having trouble remembering things since the accident. So if you could tell me, it would be a great help."

"Sure thing. It's not serious is it? He seemed fine this morning."

"Nah, it hasn't happened much and it's always little things."

"He asked me about the car I salvaged the headlight door from. Wanted to know what parts are interchangeable with the Impala. He asked to see it too."

"He did, huh? Can you show it to me? Salvaging spare parts is actually a pretty good idea. I'll have to thank the kid for that. Did he ask you anything else?" It was a good idea. Dean wanted to know the real reason Sam asked to see the car.

"Nope, just asked to see it. It's the black Caprice at the very back of the lot. You can't miss it. Let me know if there are any of its parts you want. I can make you a good offer on them."

Dean made his way to the back of the yard trying to figure out why it was so important for Sam to see this car. The Caprice looked to be in pretty good condition considering where it ended. The only damage to the old car was the missing headlight door and a huge dent in the passenger side. There was nothing special about it. _What were you looking for little brother?_ Seeing this car, so much like the Impala, abandoned to the scrap heap made Dean appreciate his baby all the more. It occurred to him that to Sam's eyes the cars would look identical. That still didn't answer the question of what was so special about this car.

He was headed back to the motel when he remembered one more question for Marcus. A vague unease was settling in his mind as he dialed Marcus, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Sorry to bother you again. Do you know where the Caprice came from? How it ended up in the salvage yard?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? That was one of the cars from the first accident. The kid who died was the passenger in that car."

"Thanks, Marcus," he said, a hundred thoughts all trying to be heard at once. The events of the last 24 hours came together in a terrible realization for Dean. The car couldn't even make it very far out of town. It didn't start running again until they planned to stay. The radio, the mirrors, and the accidents. How could he be so blind to obvious signs of an angry spirit? He paled as he now knew what happened to Sam. The beeping sound he realized was the EMF, should have known immediately.

Sam figured it out and needed Dad's journal to find a way to fix things. Dean was angry with himself. If he hadn't ignored the obvious signs, Sam wouldn't have been hurt. It was his fault. He was so lost in his thoughts of guilt, he didn't hear his phone ringing.

He tried to pull the car over. His baby had other plans. _No! The spirit, not my baby._ Dean was angry with himself again. Everything pointed to an escalation of the spirit's pranks. Inside the car was the last place he should be. Now he might pay for it with his life. He called Sam to tell him all he'd found out from Marcus, to warn him.

"Sam, I know what--" was all he got out before an invisible arm pinned him to the seat, causing him to drop the phone. His car, now under the ghost's control, turned into the motel parking lot. He could hear Sam frantically calling his name through his phone and tried to warn him.

"Sam!"

The warning died as pressure wrapped around his throat. He saw Sam rush from their room and felt the car pick up speed. His baby was aimed at his brother and he was utterly helpless to do anything but watch, Sam frozen in fear at the sight of the car barreling for him.

"Noooo!!"

The scream seemed spur the younger hunter to action. At the last moment, the car swerved right to avoid the building. Luckily, Sam chose to dodge the opposite direction, missing impact by inches. Dean couldn't turn his head to reassure himself that Sam was unhurt. He tried looking in the rearview mirror. All he got was his first glimpse of the spirit controlling his car. It was not who he'd expected.

"Who the hell are you? I thought it was a kid who died in the crash." Instead, he was dealing with a man about Sam's age.

"The kid that died in that crash was my baby brother. My brother was taken from me and now I'll take yours from you."

"I know how you feel, man. I really do. I can't let you hurt Sam. I'll do whatever it takes to stop you." Dean wasn't sure how they would get out of this situation without someone getting hurt. He'd make sure it wasn't Sam. He would sacrifice everything to assure that. His car or even his life, either was a fair trade in his mind. Sam came before it all.

"Take me instead. You know you'd do the same thing for your little brother. You have to promise not to hurt anyone else."

The spirit laughed and said, "You don't get it. I'm killing you both. I wanted to kill your brother first so you could watch, go through what I did. I guess it'll have to be the other way around. I'll let him suffer, then he's next. Say goodbye."

The ghost released him and the car turned to face the motel room again. Dean attempted to reach for his phone, to warn Sam, when the spirit made itself known again. The seat moved forward with enough force for the steering wheel to knock the wind out of him. The continued pressure on his chest made breathing almost impossible.

_I can't let it end like this. I have to be here for Sam. I have to save him._

He tried to slide free of the wheel, made slow progress, and hoped he would make it out in time to stay conscious. Fighting with the last of his strength, he could've sworn he felt ribs cracking. The pain spreading in his chest to lungs not getting air blocked out all thought. He needed to get free, couldn't think clearly anymore how to do it.

_Sorry, Sam. I tried._ Once again oblivion took him.

A/N: Just a little fun fact from real life. The crappy blue Escort and the red truck are both cars I once owned, that caused me loads of trouble. A salvage yard is actually too good a home for either of them.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam was eating his breakfast while the laptop booted up. He decided against the stronger pain pills. They tended to make him a bit drowsy. He needed to stay alert and focused.

Bringing up the browser window, he was glad he cleared the history each time they started a new job. This job hadn't required as much online research, so the list of sites wouldn't take too long to go through. The third page he scrolled through, a newspaper site, brought up a photo. More precisely, it was the photo of the crash from eleven years ago. All of Sam's memories came flooding back. The car at the salvage yard, scanning the Impala, and the door slamming into him. Then it dawned on him that Dean left. In the car. He grabbed his phone, hoping to warn his brother before things got dangerous.

"This is Dean. Leave a message." _Damn it, Dean. Why aren't you answering your phone?_ His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing.

"Sam, I know what--" His relief at hearing his brother's voice was quickly replaced by fear.

He heard the car rumbling, a grunt of pain, and the phone dropping, then nothing.

"Dean! Are you ok? Dean!" For what felt like forever he got no response. Then a strangled "Sam!" before everything went silent.

No sure what he hoped to accomplish on foot, he raced from the room to go find his brother. Right into the path of the speeding Impala. He froze for a second, too shocked to react. Only for a second. A terrified scream from his brother snapped him out of his initial shock. Dodging at the last moment, he managed to make it back to the room before turning to see if Dean was alright. The car swung back around and faced the motel room. The engine revved, as if daring Sam to come back outside.

He had to find a way to get his brother out of the car. Fear showed again on his brother's face and Sam realized Dean was fighting something. His own safety forgotten, he ran to the car. A couple of feet from the driver's side door, Dean stopped struggling, slumped over the steering wheel. He tried not to panic, tried not to assume the worst. He needed to know his brother was ok. And he needed to find a way to bind the spirit from attacking until they could exorcise it.

Sam reached for the door, hoping the spirit wouldn't stop him. Bracing the door, he leaned in to check on Dean. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found a pulse. Relief that was short-lived when he heard his brother's breathing, shallow and grating. _God, Dean, what the hell happened to you?_ Wrapping Dean's left arm over his shoulder and grabbing him around the waist he tried pulling him free of the car. A moan of pain from his brother spurred him to move more quickly.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts but I have to get you out of here." Getting to his feet carefully, he carried Dean to the safety of their hotel room, laid him down on the floor, and started checking him for injuries. _No broken bones, no new head injuries, so what happened?_ He placed a hand on his brother's chest to check his breathing again. When the touch caused Dean to flinch, Sam lifted his brother's shirt, unprepared for the sight that awaited him. A round welt across his chest was beginning to bruise. The situation quickly went from bad to worse as a coughing fit brought blood.

"I know how much you hate hospitals. We have no choice." He desperately needed to call 911, but couldn't put the paramedics at risk too. A salt circle around the car would be the quickest method until he could fix things permanently. Unfortunately, the salt was in the trunk of the car. He would have to risk getting near the car again. Two steps from the room, the car stopped running.

_Why stop now?_ In the silence, he heard a gasp from his brother and then nothing. Rushing back to Dean, he knew why. Dean was no longer breathing. The spirit had done what it set out to do.

"Dean! Don't you do this to me. You can't give up now!" Checking again for a pulse and finding one, Sam forced himself to focus. He couldn't lose his brother now. He tilted Dean's head back, made sure his airway was clear, and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, ignoring the falling tears.

"Breathe, damn it! Breathe!"

Sam continued to breathe for his brother for almost a full two minutes before Dean started trying to breathe on his own. Gasping and coughing, he even opened his eyes momentarily. Relieved beyond words, Sam initiated the biggest of all chick flick moments and didn't care. He hugged his brother.

* * *

When the pain subsided to a bearable level, Dean became aware of several things. He was once again lying down, his brother was sobbing like a baby, and _God please tell me this isn't what I think it is._

"Sam, where are we," he said between gasps, "and why the hell are you hugging me?"

"Don't ever do that again, jerk. You scared the crap out of me!"

Hearing the fear in his little brother's voice, he decided to let it go, and pushed himself from the hug, his breathing still a little ragged. "Whatever, bitch! Where's my car? That damn spirit didn't crash her, did he?"

"The car? You almost die and you're worried about the car?"

"Damn straight! It's not her fault."

"You stubborn pain in my ass! The car is fine. Not a scratch. Not yet anyway."

"Not funny, Sam. You hurt my baby and I will kick your ass." _As soon as I can stand, that is._

"So you would rather I let it kill us?"

"Of course not. We just have to figure out how to stop the ghost without hurting my car." The obvious fear still lingering in Sam's voice, Dean tried to allay some of it by sitting up. Which, he discovered only too quickly, wasn't such a great idea. The pain in his chest that was a dull throb now felt like it was on fire. It also made breathing more difficult. _Ok, that hurt like a bitch. Lying back down for a minute._

"We aren't doing anything. You are going to the hospital. I'll get Dad's journal and take care of this. I just need to make it safe for the paramedics to help you."

"And exactly how do you plan on doing that?"

"I just need to put a salt ring around the car while it is stopped. All of our salt is in the trunk."

This time he managed to sit up without almost passing out, still felt dizzy and out of breath. "Are you crazy? You're not going anywhere near the car until it's safe. I'll go get the salt."

"Am_ I _crazy? You can barely even sit much less stand. Besides the car stopped running when you--"

He could see Sam fighting for composure, not very successfully.

"When I what?" _What happened that has him so scared? Wait. Didn't he say something about me almost dying?_

"Stopped breathing. For two whole minutes. I didn't think you were going to make it. I thought I was losing you. So you can understand why I'm not so worried about the car. She can be rebuilt, you can't."

_No wonder you look so freaked. I'm sorry I put you through that, Sammy. _

"Dude, did you just say _she_? I knew it. You like my baby too. Admit it!" He hoped the humor would take some of the fear and sadness from his face. The tiny smile he received didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was a start. "Hang on a minute. You said I stopped breathing. Does that mean--"

"Yeah, Dean. It does. I had to give you--"

"Don't even say it out loud. That's just gross! We tell no one about it. Ever. You got that?" The worst part was now he had a mental image he was sure he didn't want. "Gross!" This time a laugh and the sadness was gone. Now to erase the fear. For Sam, that meant the one thing Dean tried to avoid at all costs. He'd talk about what happened. Really talk, not hide behind jokes. Quietly, still finding it hard to breathe, he asked, "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

_Not going to make this easy for me, are you Sammy? _"That I was in trouble. Was it a vision?"

'No, not a vision. I was going back through my research from last night and found a photo from the original crash. The memories all came back in a rush, why I went to see Marcus, what I was doing just before you found me."

"I know you were looking for Dad's journal, but what did happen?" As Sam recounted the events of that morning, Dean winced, remembering his own encounters. They were both lucky to be alive. "Hey, Sam. I have a question for you. Why are we dealing the spirit of the brother instead of the kid who died in the crash?"

"The day of the accident, Scott Oram was driving. The grief over losing Wesley and the guilt that he wasn't able to protect him were too much." He went on to explain all that happened in the man's short life. For a minute, Dean couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. He would've been just as messed up if he lost Sam like that. The sympathy didn't last long. The spirit tried to kill Sam, then tried to kill him to make his brother suffer. That was was unforgivable.

"Ok, so how do we get that son of a bitch out of my car? Without damaging my baby!" The last words came out forcefully, causing another coughing fit, another one with blood. _Damn that hurt like hell. Ok, no more yelling either._ Breathing back under control, he said, "And without you going anywhere near the car."

* * *

Sam couldn't figure out how he lost the argument. He almost never lost an argument with Dean. Just flash the puppy dog eyes and his brother would do whatever he wanted. _So why is it that I'm digging through Dad's journal while Dean tries to get the salt from the trunk? How the hell did he do that?_ He had to find out how to bind the spirit's power before his brother got himself into even more trouble.

So far the ghost was quiet. He knew it was only a matter of time. Pretty soon it would decide it was done playing. Lost in the search for the right incantation, he forgot to keep an eye on Dean's slow progress. He was obviously still in a lot of pain. An angry yell, followed by more coughing, brought him to attention.

"Damn it all to hell!"

"What's wrong? You ok?" He didn't sound as mad as he did irritated.

"The frigging keys! They're still in the ignition."

"Why don't you let me get them? You shouldn't even be walking around right now."

"We're not going through that again. I told you. You aren't coming anywhere near the car until it's safe. Got that?"

"You could at least let me help." Sam knew he'd never be able to convince Dean that his own life was just as important. That it hurt him to see his brother in such pain and not be allowed to ease it even a little. "Just be careful, ok?"

"Sure thing, Sam. Now quit your bitching and find the incantation." Making sure to listen for any more problems, he searched a little more frantically, getting the sudden feeling things were about to get bad quickly. He heard the car door open, some angry muttering from his brother, then another angry curse.

"Son of a bitch almost got my fingers! At least I got the keys." He knew now the spirit was toying with them, lulling them into a false sense of security. Finding what he was looking for, he tried to stop Dean from trying to get in the trunk. With the incantation they shouldn't need the salt after all. As usual the Winchester luck was holding. Dean backed away from the trunk seconds before it slammed shut again, salt in hand and headed back to the room.

"Come away from the car. I found what we need." No sooner had he spoken the words, than the car started again. At first it looked like it would try for Sam. Like last time, it turned before hitting the building. Now it was headed for Dean, standing in the middle of the parking lot, no shelter in running distance. Not that he could run in his condition. He was rooted to the spot, looking much like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Dean!"

* * *

Dean was still not sure how he won that argument. Sam had pulled the pissy face and the puppy dog eyes, both of which usually worked on their own. In combination, they were unbeatable. This time Dean got his way, which he almost immediately regretted. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his head throbbed to the beat of his too quick pulse. Every step was like trying to breath under water. Though he'd rather suffer the pain than put Sam at risk again. The going was slow and he heard Sam muttering in the background, obviously still pissed he'd lost. As Dean approached the car, he realized things would be even harder than they anticipated.

"Damn it all to hell!" He realized too late that yelling was a bad idea. A very bad idea. His lungs protested the added abuse causing another coughing fit, and more blood. Not to mention the world was spinning just a little. Glad that his back was to his brother, Dean tried to compose himself and hide the blood from him overprotective little brother.

"What's wrong? You ok?"

"The frigging keys! They're still in the ignition." He needed the keys to get into the trunk. He wondered if they would ever catch a break. Even Winchesters deserved better than this.

"Why don't you let me get them? You shouldn't even be walking around right now." _Knew he'd throw that in my face. Not falling for it._

"We're not going through that again. I told you. You aren't going anywhere near the car until it's safe. Got that?"_ I already let you get hurt enough on this damn case._

"You could at least let me help." A pause and a sigh followed by, "Just be careful, ok?"

"Sure thing, Sam. Now quit your bitching and find the incantation." That was the only way he was letting Sam even leave the motel room, once the car was not controlled by the seriously pissed spirit. Fighting yet another wave of dizziness and nausea, he finally reached his car.

"Don't worry baby, I'll get that bastard out," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I let this happen. We'll figure this out without you getting any more damaged." He carefully reached for the door, avoiding a repeat of last night, and pulled it open. Still wary of an attack, he braced the door with his left leg while reaching in for the keys. He was almost free of the car, steadying himself, when the door slammed closed, barely missing his fingers.

"Son of a bitch almost got my fingers! At least I got the keys." Even with the near miss, he knew that had been way too easy. The ghost was messing with them, waiting for who knew what before striking again. Now he only had to make it to the trunk and get the salt. Using the car to keep him upright, the trip to the trunk was much quicker. Again hesitant, he unlocked and opened the trunk, bracing it with one arm. He reached in for the salt, snatching it out as the pressure on his arm was too much and the trunk slammed shut. _What does this jerk have against my fingers?_ He just stepped away from the trunk when Sam hollered, waving the journal and headed his way.

"Come away from the car. I found what we need."

The minute the words the left Sam's mouth, the car started back up and headed for Sam again._ Damn, why didn't he stay in the room?_ Though this time the car swerved much sooner and was headed straight for Dean instead. He'd been so worried for Sam, it took his pain addled mind longer to notice that fact. He stood rooted to the spot, not able to think, much less move. Only his brother's voice, screaming his name, could get his attention.

"Dean!" The fuzziness cleared, not bringing with it a solution. Then, "Use the salt! Make a circle around you now!"

If not for years of training to immediately respond to an order without thought, he would've been run down by his baby. As is was, he opened the salt container and spun a circle of salt around him just in time. Though the spinning part wasn't the best idea. His body had taken a lot of abuse. It had enough and was done for now. He saw the car swerve away and Sam rush to him, felt the ground rushing to meet him, bracing for impact. Instead of the hard concrete, he felt arms catch him, lowering him gently to the ground.

"Come on, man. No more lying down on the job." The humor was welcome. It did nothing to hide the fear in Sam's voice. "Dean? You ok?"

"Just peachy, Sam. I'll be fine in a minute. Are you hurt?" He couldn't get his eyes to focus yet, or his mind for that matter.

"I'm fine. It didn't even try for me this time. Did you say something to make the spirit more angry?"

"Told him to leave you alone. To take me instead." _Crap, didn't mean to say that!_

"You what? Why the hell would you do that? Damn it, Dean!"

"It didn't matter. He planned to kill us both anyway. He wanted me to watch my little brother die like he did. You messed up his plans by not dying."

"It does matter. Why is my life more important than yours?"

He had no intention of answering that question right now, knowing that "because I said so" wasn't an answer Sam would accept. He chose the best way to not answer it. He quickly changed the subject. "Where's the car?" A frustrated sigh from Sam said he'd let it go. For now.

"Just a few feet away idling. I expanded your salt circle so he can't get to us right now. That should give me enough time to read the incantation. Think you can sit up?"

"Yeah, I'm good. The spinning decided to take a break. So what does this incantation do precisely?" He could tell from the way Sam hesitated he wasn't going to like the answer. "Sam?"

"It works a little like the one we used on that demon that was crashing airplanes. It frees the spirit from what they are attached to. Unlike the demon it isn't free to destroy at will. It will be returned to the place the spirit was created, where Scott died. He'll be sent back to the Caprice. Then I can call the paramedics. Once you go to the hospital, I can figure out how to get rid of the spirit permanently. Without Marcus catching me."

"Hell no! You are not doing this on your own. We'll take care of it now. And no hospitals!" The angry protest exacerbated his already abused lungs. Struggling to catch a breath, the latest bout of coughing had him doubled over in pain. The fire in his lungs returned followed by a sudden stabbing pain lower in his chest. After a minute or two, the coughing finally stopped, taking the stabbing pain and fire down to a bearable level.

"Dean, it's obvious you have some internal damage. You know there's nothing we can do for that. You need to see a doctor. Don't think I didn't notice the blood. It's serious. Hospital serious. Now, just for once can you worry as much for yourself as you do me?" The pleading tone to Sam's voice perfectly matched the look in his eyes.

_Damn if he didn't pull the puppy dog eyes again! _With a sigh he agreed, "Ok, we'll go to the hospital. You have to promise me you'll wait for me to deal with the spirit though. He's too dangerous to deal with alone. You'll need time to research. That'll give me the time to get checked out before we salt and burn the bastard. Got it? Sam, promise me you'll wait for me."

"Fine. Together."

* * *

Marcus lived in Glen Rose most of his life. He'd listened to a lot of gossip, so many rumors. He never put stock in them. He saw it as people with too much time on their hand creating something to talk about. Small towns weren't exactly exciting. Gossip made the small town world go around. This one time he was listening. Not engaging in the gossip, but eavesdropping on the latest stories while eating lunch at his favorite diner.

Today's topic was the Killer Crossing and its lack of activity. Some claimed the kids researching the story scared the spirit away. Some of the more inventive ones were certain they'd done something to get rid of it. Since the day of the accident, the one where young Sam saved the little girl, no other problems had happened. None of the little things and definitely not the big thing everyone was sure would happen. They'd all heard the story of the original accident, knew that the fatal accidents all occurred on the anniversary of poor Suzanne's death, in the same way. You'd have to be blind, or new to town, not to notice the pattern. Even the skeptics had to admit it was too similar to be coincidence.

The thing that convinced Marcus that maybe those boys did do something had to do with more than the intersection. He would never tell anyone in town, not wanting to be labeled a crazy old man. He'd had strange things happen in his salvage yard. Small things, never dangerous. Things that stopped the day Sam and Dean Burgess arrived in town. He never was able to pinpoint the cause of the occurrences, just that they were always near the back of the yard.

After his conversations today with Sam, then Dean, he had a pretty good idea of it. He'd known Scott Oram, used to love to watch him play football. The kid planned to play for UT Austin. He dreamed of being a Longhorn, then a Dallas Cowboy. Dreams that died with his parents. He'd never regretted giving up those dreams to take care of his baby brother. When Wesley was taken from him too, it had been too much. The community felt the loss of the Oram boys for quite a while after they were gone. Marcus never had the heart to sell Scott's car, not that anyone would buy it, knowing its history.

Thinking back, he realized that it was after the car was delivered to him that the strange things started to happen. He hadn't touched the car in all the years it sat collecting dust, until he took the part for Dean's Impala. That's when the salvage yard went quiet. Now they were having trouble with the Impala. Again, it was too coincidental. He tried calling them. Neither of them were answering their phones. As soon as he finished lunch, he would go tell them his suspicions about the car and hope they didn't think he was crazy.

* * *

Sam, with Dean safely sitting in the salt circle, opened their father's journal to the incantation. Looking back to make sure his brother was ok one more time, he prepared to read the long spell needed to rid the car of the spirit, carefully going over pronunciations. One word misspoken could spell disaster for both of them. Certain he was ready, he started slowly, hearing the car engine rev in response. What he didn't notice was that the spirit was turning the back of the car to them, trunk open. Dean did.

"I think he's not too happy. Hurry up that spell, dude!"

He looked up to see what would give his brother that indication, barely in time to dodge a knife aimed at his head. His knife. _Damn, that's not good! He found our arsenal. Better make this quick._

"Sam, you alright?" Dean was trying to stand, the fear in his voice evident.

"Yeah, I'm fine. He missed. Let's just hope he can't load a gun." He went back to the spell, staying more aware of the trunk of the car and the multitude of dangerous weapons kept within. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he could get Dean to a hospital. His breathing was worse, his skin pale and cold. Two lines later and another knife headed for them, this time their machete aimed at Dean, who was too distracted with more coughing to notice.

"Dean, look out!"He grabbed him to pull him to the ground still in the salt circle, when he felt the pain in his left shoulder. A quick scream escaped as they hit the ground. He breathed through the pain, not wanting to see how badly he'd been cut.

"Sam! Is it bad? Let me see." He let his brother quickly check it out, knowing that was the only way he'd be allowed to finish the incantation. "It's not too bad. Should only need a few stitches." Then more quietly, "Thanks, Sam." He knew Dean hated to admit to a mistake or weakness. To hear him thanking Sam for saving him indicated how much pain he must be in. He looked ready to pass out.

"We finish this now. Before he finds anymore sharp objects."

Standing back up, Sam picked up the pace reading the spell. If he didn't finish it soon, they could both end up in the hospital or worse. He was almost finished when he looked up for a second. What he saw made his blood run cold. The ghost now had their crossbow, their loaded crossbow, out and aimed at Sam. He reacted quickly, but not quite quickly enough. As he dodged the bow, he felt it slice along the side of his head. He fell to the ground, too stunned to move, blood running in his eyes, not noticing that he'd fallen outside the circle. It was exactly what Scott's spirit had been trying to do.

Attempting to stand, he heard the car tires squeal and a cry from his brother, felt a shove, then saw something he would never forget, would probably have nightmares about for months. The image of his brother being run down by his own car, body slumped in the now shattered windshield would be forever burned in his mind.

"Dean! Oh my god, DEAN!" Before he could rush to his injured brother, the car revved again and started to roll forward. Stepping back in the circle, he knew the only way to help his brother now was to utter the last few lines of the spell. As the last word was spoken, the car stopped. Sam rushed to Dean, praying he was alive. He had a pulse and was breathing, but there was so much blood, so much of Dean's blood flowing down the windshield and hood of the car. While quickly securing the trunk to avoid questions from the cops, Sam called 911 and prayed they would get there in time. He couldn't lose Dean now. Not like this.

* * *

Awareness was a struggle. The pain called for surrender. The need to know Sam was alright pushed past the overwhelming desire to give in to oblivion. As usual, Sam's safety won out. Trying to remember what happened, Dean's mind replayed the few minutes before losing consciousness.

He'd been sitting, attempting to breathe through the pain in his chest. The spirit started throwing their weapons. He remembered the knife, the machete, and the crossbow. He remembered Sam getting hurt and falling from the salt circle, their only protection from the angry spirit. The last thing Dean remembered was pushing his brother from the path of his car and the pain. Lots of pain. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. His head pounded. His whole right side could still feel the impact from the car, though there was a pronounced, stabbing pain in the right arm and shoulder that must have pieces of the windshield embedded in the flesh, blood flowing freely down his face, arm, and really his whole right side. The worst though was the fire in his lungs and the sharp, intense pain on the ride side of his chest, making breathing nearly impossible.

He still couldn't believe how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. Though he realized he shouldn't be surprised. It was typical Winchester luck. He never thought his baby would be the one to finally get the best of him. At least it wasn't Sam this time. That would be more than Sam could handle. He still hadn't forgiven himself for shooting Dean while possessed. A familiar touch distracted him from his difficulties long enough to hear the comforting words from Sam. Words that told Dean exactly what he needed to know.

_Thank God you're ok, Sammy. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on. I don't think I'm going to make it this time. I'm sorry I won't be here to save you. I'm sorry to leave you alone. I'm so sorry, Sam._

He wasn't sure how much, if any of it, he said out loud. He couldn't fight the pain anymore. Spasms shook his whole body, stealing what little air was left in his abused lungs. "Bye, little brother," was all he could manage before his body just quit.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I have virtually no experience with the medical stuff. Any glaringly obvious mistakes can be blamed on poor research and that lack of experience. Oh, and maybe watching too many episodes of "Emergency" as a kid. This chapter is dedicated to SupernaturalGeek._

Sam hated feeling so helpless. Helpless to stop what happened. Helpless to fix things now. He didn't dare move Dean out of the windshield. He could end up making a bad situation even worse. He had to hope the ambulance would get there quickly. Beyond the helplessness, he couldn't get his thoughts to focus. They refused to see anything beyond Dean, unconscious and bleeding. He was vaguely aware when Marcus arrived and tried to get him to tend to his own injuries, but he didn't care about himself right now.

"No! I have to watch out for Dean. I have to make sure he is safe." He climbed onto the hood of the car next to his brother, took his hand and tried to reassure him everything would be ok, tears flowing freely. "Come on, man. Give me some sort of sign. Let me know you'll be alright."

In response, Dean looked up, pain and sadness obvious in his eyes, and whispered, "Sorry, Sam." He squeezed Sam's hand as a spasm of pain wracked his battered body. "Bye, little brother," he whispered, gasped for air, and closed his eyes.

"Dean? Dean! No, you can't do this to me again! Please just breathe."

His own breaths coming too quickly, he could hear the ambulance approaching. Sam knew he couldn't move Dean for fear of a possible spinal injury, but he couldn't perform CPR in that position. He couldn't stand the thought of losing his brother now, not after all they'd survived.

"Please, Dean. You can't give up now. I can't do this alone. Please! Just breathe!"

From there time was erratic, speeding up to the the arrival of the paramedics. Slow motion as they moved him away and pulled Dean from the windshield onto a backboard, then gurney, careful to avoid causing further injury. Once Dean was mobilized, they worked to get him breathing again. Sam answered the paramedic's questions the best he could, trying not panic. One paramedic began administering oxygen while the other checked vital signs and hooked up the EKG and an IV as they loaded Dean into the ambulance.

"Damn, he's going into cardiac arrest!" They quickly began CPR, mindful of already damaged ribs. When that didn't work, they moved to the defibrillator, reestablishing a heart beat and loading him into the ambulance. "We gotta get him to the hospital now."

Sam's mind stopped at the words cardiac arrest. It was Sioux Falls all over again. The car wrecked, Dean fighting for his life. And Sam left to watch, wait, and hope. He couldn't handle that again, didn't really handle it the last time. He hopped into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving his brother, refusing to look back at the car.

One of the paramedics tried to tend to his wounds, but he didn't care. All that mattered was Dean. The ride to the hospital was a nightmare come true. His heart stopped again on the way to the hospital and it took almost the whole trip to get it started. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Sam was left in the waiting room, to his worst fears realized. _Dean knew it was bad, said goodbye._ No sooner did someone approach to ask what had happened, than his own injuries and fears caught up to him. He crashed to the floor as his world fell apart around him.

* * *

Marcus knew he was too late as soon as the motel parking lot was in view. Knew that he should've realized sooner the danger. As he approached, he saw something he wouldn't in a million years have believed, would never forget. Dean was sitting on the ground arms wrapped around his chest. Sam standing and reading from a book, and the car, well the car's trunk was open, something pointed at the boys. Before he could scream a warning, the thing fired what looked like an arrow. He watched Sam dodge, saw the blood. Then the car, with no driver, turned around and sped toward the kid.

Dean appeared almost out of nowhere and pushed his brother from the path of the moving vehicle, took the blow himself. The image of that poor boy, struck by his own car, body flying on to the hood and crashing into the windshield would follow him to his dying days. All the accidents at the Killer Crossing were nothing compared to this. As he got closer to the scene, Sam rose to help his brother, stepped back when the car started moving again, and continued to read from the book. Whatever he said did the trick. The car wasn't running anymore. But Dean hadn't moved since being struck.

Exiting his truck, he rushed to see if he could help as he heard Sam's desperate call to 911 describing his brother's injuries, sounding even worse than they looked. "Sam? Hey, kid. You ok?" He looked pretty bad himself, blood streaming from a head wound and what looked like a deep cut on his left shoulder.

Sam looked over, not really seeing Marcus at first. He was dazed and probably in shock. "Marcus? What—how did--?"

"It's alright kid. Why don't you come sit down over here until the paramedics arrive?" He couldn't believe that Dean survived the hit, much less the blood loss. _So much blood. How can a man lose that much blood and still be alive?_

"No! I have to watch out for Dean. I have to make sure he is safe."

Marcus was relieved to hear the ambulance in the distance. He couldn't tear his eyes from the sight before him. Sam was sitting on hood of the car next to his brother, holding his hand, and reassuring the unconscious man everything would be fine, tears in his eyes. Dean, completely motionless, was covered in blood, his body partially in the windshield of his most prized possession. _Please, God, don't let him die. This is all my fault. I should have told them sooner. _Sudden, fearful words from Sam brought him out of his guilt-ridden thoughts.

"Dean? Dean! No, you can't do this to me again! Please just breathe." By the end, the words were choked out between sobs. "Please, Dean. You can't give up now. I can't do this alone. Please! Just breathe!"

Knowing there were no words of comfort that would help, he stayed out of the way as the paramedics arrived and did their job. Guilt and fear clenched his heart at the words cardiac arrest and he thought Sam would collapse right there, all color leaving his face. He followed the ambulance to the hospital in hopes of being some comfort, someone for Sam to lean on as the doctors worked to save his brother. He'd just reached him when Sam, obviously in pain, collapsed.

* * *

Sam came around to the sounds of the emergency room; heart monitors, ventilators and other life saving machines all beeping and whooshing. He saw Marcus sitting next to the exam room table and nurses coming and going. What he didn't see or hear was the only important thing. Dean.

"Dean?" he managed, only slightly a mumble.

"Hey, kid. How ya feeling?"

"Where's Dean? Is he ok? How long was I out?" he said, trying to get out of the bed and find his brother.

"Whoa, Sam. You gotta stay still. They just finished stitching up your shoulder."

"What about Dean?" he insisted.

"You've only been out for a little while, maybe thirty minutes. We don't know much except he needed emergency surgery. They promise to come tell you as soon as they know more. Can you tell me what happened?"

Sam wondered how much Marcus had seen and whether he could trust him with the truth. Telling even a little bit of truth could get them committed. Or arrested. He tried to find a way to explain that didn't include the real story. His internal debate was cut short by quiet words that weren't at all what Sam expected, but a welcome relief.

"It was Scott, wasn't it?"

"How did you know?" Sam said, almost too quiet for Marcus to hear.

"I didn't figure it out until this afternoon. Some of what I talked with you boys about and some of the local gossip got me to thinking, admitting a few things to myself. I should've figured it out sooner. This is all my fault."

"How could this be your fault? You couldn't know."

"But I should've. Now that I think back, it was so obvious. I had little problems in the salvage yard. Mostly just strange noises near the back. But my dog was always a bit afraid of the yard and none of the kids that worked for me would go back there on their own. One kid, only worked for me for one day, claimed he saw a guy sitting in the Caprice. He quit immediately and never came back to my garage. At the time, I didn't think anything of it. But when Dean asked where the car came from, somehow it all clicked. The weird problems started the day Scott's car was towed to the yard. Over the years, I got used to them and kinda forgot. After fixing the Impala, everything stopped. The dog even seemed less skittish. Then the Impala started having problems. If I'd only said something--"

"Marcus, you can't blame yourself. Dealing with ghosts is part of our job." At that, Marcus looked slightly confused. Sam realized he could trust Marcus with the whole truth. "No, I don't mean the book thing. That's only our cover. It's what we told people so they'd talk to us. Our job here was to end the hauntings at that intersection. To stop it before anyone else died. We've been fighting evil since we were kids. Usually angry spirits, but also other things, things you probably don't want to know about. It's a dangerous gig. We know that going in. Sometimes things are more dangerous than we expected."

"But Dean almost died because of me." Sam knew it would be a while before Marcus could forgive himself, no matter what he said. But he'd still try.

"Trust me. With our family's luck, even our simplest jobs go wrong. Even if you'd told us sooner, something would've gone wrong. It always does. So you have to stop blaming yourself." _It's my fault Dean is hurt now. I should've stayed away from the car as soon as I knew the truth. Instead I tried to hide it until it almost killed him._ "Have the cops come to question me yet? They're usually here already."

"They were here. I told them I saw some of what happened and you told me the rest. I felt getting them off your backs was the least I could do after all that you've been through."

"What exactly did you tell them happened? Not the truth or I'd be in the psych ward or worse."

Smiling, Marcus said, "I told them it was carjackers. A couple of big guys driving through town in an old Buick saw the Impala and decided they'd take it. They didn't expect the driver to fight back. Or his brother to come from the motel to help. I told them I saw one of the guys drive right into Dean. He freaked, saw me and took off with the other one in their car. I think they'll still want to question you, get your side of things. But now they can wait until you know Dean will be ok."

"Thanks for that. I still wasn't sure what plausible lie I was going to tell them. It's hard to explain being hit by a driverless car. It's definitely a first for us and hopefully the last. Where's the car now? The cops didn't search the trunk, did they?" Sam knew if they found the arsenal in the trunk, it wouldn't matter what happened.

"They got what evidence they needed for the case and are letting me tow it to my garage."

"Your garage? Damn, I forgot! You need to keep everyone away from the salvage yard, especially the Caprice."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"The incantation I used to get the spirit out of the Impala didn't get rid of it. It just sent the ghost back to where it was created, back to Scott's car. Only now, he's more pissed because we didn't die and he's stuck again. No one can go near it until we get rid of him." Sam was terrified that someone else could get hurt, or worse die, before they finished what they started.

"Get rid of him? He's dead. How do you kill a ghost?"

"Same way we helped Suzanne. We have to salt and burn the bones."

"So you did do something to stop the accidents at Killer Crossing. I can't believe that sweet girl would kill anyone."

"Actually, she wasn't to blame. The bastard who killed her put a curse on her, forcing her to relive her death. She was trapped and couldn't move on. By salting and burning her bones, we freed her of the curse, once and for all."

"Damn, I knew that man was a sick son of a bitch! But what about Scott? He was never a mean person. In fact you boys kind of remind me of Scott and his little brother, how close you are. They were inseparable too."

"His spirit, trapped in the car, was never able to move on. In time, it drove him crazy. In fact, I think he was so angry at the end because we reminded him of all he'd lost. He even told Dean he wanted him to know exactly how it felt to lose a little brother." He told him all that happened after Dean left the garage, including those anguished minutes when his brother stopped breathing the first time. It felt good to be able to talk about it, to get past it.

After a couple of hours of telling Marcus about some of the crazy things they'd seen and hunted over the years, the door to his room finally opened. The doctor that entered had the typical, unreadable expression. Sam managed to sit up without pulling any of his new stitches.

"Is my brother ok? Can I see him?" He really needed to see Dean. To see for himself that he was going to be alright.

"He's being moved into ICU after a couple of close calls in surgery. We'll take you to see him as soon as he's settled."

"What do you mean close calls? And what was the surgery for?" He felt sick thinking he'd almost lost his brother again while he and Marcus were sitting, chatting about the damn spirit.

"There was extensive damage to his chest, cracked ribs and bruises. The impact of the car broke one of his ribs and punctured one of his lungs, causing it to collapse. After re-expanding the lung, his heart stopped again. There was also damage to his right leg, right arm, and a serious head wound. We have him stable now and want to keep a close eye on things. He isn't out of the woods yet. The next 48 hours will be critical."

"Thanks. Let me know when I can see him." He wondered how many more times he'd have to go through this, watching Dean throw himself in the way of danger to protect his little brother, before it really did kill him. Sam knew that day would kill him too. He couldn't live this life without Dean at his side, driving, joking, and being a general pain in the ass. He needed his big brother as much as Dean needed him. Besides, Dean never left a job unfinished. He had to be fine to finish taking care of Scott's spirit.

* * *

"Did you know we're only a little over an hour from the city where your baby was originally assembled? I'm sure you did. You're probably the one who told me that."

A full twenty-four hours after they moved Dean to ICU, Sam sat watching his brother, waiting for him to wake, talking about anything and everything. The doctor said it was normal that he hadn't woken yet, that he was showing excellent progress. They didn't think he'd wake until the critical period passed. Sam had to hope they were right.

Marcus came to visit a couple of times, making sure he took care of himself, that he ate something and slept a little. Reminded him that his brother would be pissed if he didn't. He managed to eat, but sleep wouldn't come. He needed to see Dean wake, hear his voice before that was possible. As much as he'd never admit it, he missed all the lame jokes and smart ass remarks, all the teasing. He missed his brother and needed the conversation to be less one-sided.

When they'd first brought him in from surgery, the blood was gone, revealing just how badly he was hurt. His entire right side was now a nasty shade of purple, hidden in a few spots by the bandages on his head, arm, and shoulder. He could only imagine what the lower half looked like, thankfully free of a cast. But the scariest part was seeing him on a ventilator again. Machines breathing for him, monitoring his every breath and heartbeat were a constant reminder. He held Dean's hand, worried at how still he was, but in need of the contact just the same.

Now the ventilator was replaced by a nasal cannula. There were a couple less monitors connected and his color was better. He still hadn't regained consciousness. Nurses came in regularly to check the monitors, adjust the IV drip, or clean and redress his wounds.

"Hey, Dean. You'll be happy to know one of your nurses is named Heather. And yes, she is hot. Who knew this small town would have two hot Heathers?"

Another six hours with no response, Sam was running out of things to say. He was losing hope that Dean could even hear him, would ever hear him again. With the head injury, he knew they were monitoring brain activity, worried that he might slip into a coma. After a couple more hours, the stress and lack of sleep won out and Sam fell asleep, head resting on the bed, hand never letting go of his brother's. He awoke to what had to be the best sound in the world.

"Sam?"

The gravelly tone to Dean's voice was to be expected after hours on a ventilator. It was still music to Sam's ears.

"I'm here, Dean."

"You ok?" It was just like Dean to worry about how Sam was doing when he was the one in the hospital bed.

"I'm fine. Just a few stitches. How do you feel?" He didn't expect the truth, but the answer would still give him an idea.

"Like I got hit by a car." _Typical._

"That's not funny."

"Aww, come on. It was a little funny."

"No, it isn't. Damn it, Dean! You almost died. Again. I can't keep doing this, watching helplessly while you leave me, one day for good." He was trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overcome him. Yelling at his brother wasn't going to make him feel any better. "Sorry. It's been a long couple of days."

"That long, huh? And I'm guessing you haven't left for a second. You look like crap." His voice broke a little on the last word and he grimaced slightly.

"Right back at you. Seriously man, you feeling ok?" Dean looked panicked and tightened the grip on Sam's hand. "Want me to get the doctor? I need to let them know you finally woke anyway."

"Hard to breathe. I don't feel so good, Sam." Sam was pressing the call button when Dean coughed up blood, breaths now short and rapid.

"Dean! Help, I need some help in here!" The grip on his hand got tighter, then slacked completely.

* * *

Consciousness was less painful the third time around. Listening for signs of where he was, the beeps and hisses of machinery could only mean one thing. _Hospital. Damn. Guess that's what happens when you get run over._ He would've laughed if he thought he could do it without causing more pain. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Sam sleeping. He hated to wake him, knew what the kid had probably been through, but he needed to see and hear him to know he was fine.

"Sam?" _Hell, even talking hurts._ The look of relief on his brother's face easily made up for the pain.

"I'm here, Dean."

"You ok?" he knew the answer before asking. But the question was automatic, asked as much for a bit of their version of normalcy.

"I'm fine. Only a few stitches. How do you feel?" Dean considered telling the truth for maybe a second. He didn't want to worry his brother, so he went for his usual kind of response.

"Like I got hit by a car."

He saw the rapid succession of emotions cross Sam's face, from sadness to fear and lastly anger. That's how Sam's fear fully manifested, as anger. But the fear was still there in his eyes.

"That's not funny."

"Aww, come on. It was a little funny." Then the anger was real. Maybe he'd pushed that joke too far.

"No, it isn't. Damn it, Dean! You almost died. Again. I can't keep doing this, watching helplessly while you leave me, one day for good." The fear quickly returned, bringing back the sadness. "Sorry. It's been a long couple of days."

_Two days? No wonder he's so freaked. How bad did things get?_ He was distracted from his thoughts by a painful pressure on his chest.

"That long, huh? And I'm guessing you haven't left for a second. You look like crap." He tried pulling in more air, but that made it hurt worse. Sam was saying something. He couldn't focus as the pain increased and his air intake was dwindling. He squeezed Sam's hand to let him know something was wrong, not sure he could even get words out. Sam said something about getting the doctor. _Don't think he realizes how much this is hurting._

"Hard to breathe. I don't feel so good, Sam."

The increasing pressure felt like his ribs were being crushed again, but the fear that something much worse was happening took away his focus. He couldn't understand why something as simple as breathing was suddenly not working. He wanted to cry out in pain. But he couldn't even get enough air for that. He coughed. It felt like he'd coughed up his lung. He tasted the blood and started to panic. The pressure and pain worsened, beyond what he thought possible. He heard Sam scream for help, gripped his hand tighter as the pain became unbearable, and then lost the energy to fight, practically begging for unconsciousness.

He sensed the commotion more than heard, the pounding in his head muffling most of the noise. Sam was still gripping his hand, trying to tell him something. The doctor had that neutral look, the look they all get when things are bad and they don't want you to know it. He managed to catch a couple of words and wished he hadn't. Something about a blood clot and a pulmonary embolism, neither of which sounded good. At the sight of the ventilator, he panicked again. He hated those things and was terrified at the thought of it being inserted while he was awake. Fortunately the lack of oxygen finally took its toll and he was able to let go.

The next time he woke, the pressure on his chest was gone, as was a lot of the pain. Again, Sam was asleep, head resting on the side of his bed, still holding his hand. Normally he'd give him crap for it, but he could forgive it this one time. If he were honest, he'd admit he needed the contact almost as much as Sam did. He was about to go back to sleep, stopped by the sound as someone entered the room. Marcus was the last person he expected to see.

"Hey, you're awake again. Good to see ya." The man whispered, obviously trying not to disturb Sam. "How ya feeling?"

"Marcus? Didn't expect to see you here. I'm ok. Most of the pain is gone. Must be the good stuff they serve here." His voice came out low and rough, throat still sore from the ventilator. Noticing the take-out bags, he asked, "You making sure Sam eats? Thanks, man."

"Least I could do. He refused to leave until you woke. It was easier to make him eat than sleep. Looks like his body had other ideas."

Dean chuckled at that. "Yeah, that sounds about right. How long was I out this time? Couldn't be too long. It's still light outside." At the hesitant look on the older man's face, he realized he wasn't going to like the answer.

"It was...Maybe I should let Sam tell you."

* * *

Sam woke to quiet voices. _Dean! He's awake._ He waited, listened in on the conversation for a minute. He hoped Dean might be more honest about how he was feeling if he thought Sam was still asleep. The last few days had been long and exhausting. As soon as he heard his brother ask how long he'd been out, he knew it was time to wake fully.

"Dean?"

"Sorry, Sam. Didn't mean to wake you."

"How are you feeling? And no jokes this time." He needed to know everything would be fine. Dean could be an ass later. Now he only wanted the truth.

"I'm good, Sam. Really. Breathing isn't so hard anymore. How long was I out? What happened? I heard the doc say something about a blood clot before I passed out."

"It was from the leg injury where the car struck you." He had to take a breath and calm his nerves before continuing. Even the memories of what happened still scared him. "A clot traveled to your lungs and caused a pulmonary embolism, basically stopping your lungs from working. It was pretty touch and go, especially since you were recovering from emergency surgery when it happened."

"Surgery for what?"

"One of your ribs broke and punctured a lung. It collapsed. And your heart stopped again." Sam tried to keep it together. Too many close calls in such a short time had his emotions too close to the surface. He'd even lashed out at Marcus a couple of times. Though not as badly as he had at Dean right before the embolism. He just wanted it all to be over. As far as he was concerned, they should avoid Texas altogether. Nothing good ever happened in the godforsaken state. Between the tulpa in Richardson, being found by Meg in West Texas, and this nightmare, the whole place could be overrun by demons for all he cared.

"Again? When did it stop the first time?"

"Right after the ambulance arrived." Sam tried to hold back the tears and almost succeeded. "And again in the ambulance. It took them the whole trip to get it started the second time, over three minutes. I thought for sure you were gone this time." The last part, said in a whisper, broke the dam.

"You still haven't answered my other question. How long was I out this time?"

"Another three days. After the cardiac arrest and the embolism, they weren't sure if you would wake again."

"Three days? Damn. No wonder you still look like crap." Despite himself, Sam couldn't stop from laughing. Leave it to Dean to find the right smart ass remark to lighten his mood instead of piss him off. It was a good sign that he was being honest. The insensitive jokes only came out when he felt too bad to think about something before talking.

"Right back at you, dude."

"So how much longer am I stuck here?"

"As long as it takes for you to get better. Hopefully not more than a few days. Then we can finally finish things. I seriously considered taking care of it while you were out. But I didn't want you to wake up alone."

"And you knew I'd kick your ass if you went alone. You know it's too dangerous--" He could tell Dean was worried he'd said too much.

"Don't worry, Dean. Marcus already knows. He figured things out on his own. He was coming to warn us when everything went to hell. The Impala is ghost free and at his garage. Though the repairs will have to wait until the Caprice is safe. All we have to do is deal with Scott." Sam hoped that would be as simple as Suzanne, but doubted it.

"So what's the plan? Salt and burn?"

_Like it could ever be that easy. _"No. Like his brother, Scott was cremated. I think he's still tied to something in his car. I planned to check it as soon as I knew you were out of danger. Marcus offered to help."

"The hell you will! You have to promise me you'll stay away from that car until I'm with you. Both of you!"

"But, Dean--" He wanted to be ready to leave town as soon as his brother was released, should have taken care of it without mentioning anything. He should've known Dean would go into full big brother mode.

"NO! It's too dangerous. You already promised we'd do this together."

"I know, but--"

"No buts. You wait for me. Promise?"

Sam sighed, knowing it was no use arguing when he got like that. "Fine. We wait." At least he knew Scott's spirit was pretty much stuck at the salvage yard. No one else was in danger. They had time.

* * *

It took another week of rest, anticoagulant medication, and constant monitoring before the doctors were willing to release him. By the third day Dean was going stir crazy, driving the entire staff and his little brother crazy. But he still tired easily and was asleep more than he was awake. Even after they let him leave, he would be on strict bed rest for another few more days.

Marcus, feeling responsible for Dean's injuries, offered to put them up in a better room, one without dinosaurs staring back from the walls. Dean wanted to refuse, insisting that Marcus wasn't to blame. Silently, he was grateful. They didn't often get to stay somewhere nice. A clean room and cable television made the idea of days of bed rest not so torturous.

He'd gotten dressed as soon as the release papers were signed. Now he was waiting for his ride, probably Marcus' truck, since the Impala wasn't fixed yet. It was weird to leave and not be leaving in his car. The only other time that had happened was when they'd lost their father. It brought back so many memories he was only too happy to leave buried.

This was the first time he was ever hesitant about his car, and that scared him. His baby was the only thing he could truly count on. Sam left. Dad left. The Impala was always there, through everything that went wrong, carrying them away from danger, delivering them to safety. Her trunk holding the arsenal that constantly saved so many lives, theirs included. Her rumbling engine and creaking doors were the sounds of home, stability. Now some damned ghost took that too. His sanctuary had almost been his undoing.

He was distracted from his morbid thoughts by Sam's arrival, wheelchair at the ready. He'd learned long ago not to fight the ride out in a wheelchair. Either he rode in the chair or he stayed in the hospital. That was a no-brainer.

"Ready to get out of here?"

"Hell, yes. I've been ready for days. But what's wrong with you?" Sam sounded way too chipper. He was trying to hide something. Cheerful was his tell. On closer inspection, Dean noticed his brother was using his left arm instead of his hand to push the chair.

"Nothing."

"Right, Sam. Nothing. That's why you aren't using your left hand. You went back to the car, didn't you?"

"No!"

He gave Sam the look that told him how pissed he was. That he knew he was lying. "You are full of crap and you know it! Now tell me what the hell you were thinking going without me."

Sam huffed and gave him a look in return. "Fine. My research was no help, so I took the EMF to the salvage yard. I was trying to figure out what part of the car the spirit was attached to so we wouldn't have to burn the whole thing."

"If it's the safest way to get rid of the spirit, why wouldn't we burn the whole car?"

"Because a lot of its parts can be used to repair the Impala. That was the quickest and cheapest alternative I could think of to get the car fixed back up. You know how hard the parts are to come by. Especially after all you went through to put it back together after..."

Whatever answer Dean was expecting, it wasn't that. He now understood that for all the crap Sam gave him about the car, it was never really about the car itself. It was more about his obsession with it. Sam needed the car as much as he did. It was home to both of them. For that, he could cut his little brother some slack.

"Are you ok? Anything broken?"

"Nah. Just a minor sprain. One of the doors opened before I could grab the handle. Better that it hit my hand than my head, right?"

"Very funny. So did you figure out what he's still attached to?" For all of his griping, Dean hoped he had. That would save them time later. Time spent getting out of town and on to the next hunt.

"Not quite, but I did narrow it down to something in the trunk. It is stuck between a couple of other cars and a wall. Marcus is working on getting it free so we can check the trunk when you're feeling better."

The trip out of the hospital and to their new hotel room was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts, Dean mostly trying not to fall asleep before they got there. Getting dressed, then arguing with Sam used up more energy than he'd like to admit. It irritated him to no end that it was barely past noon and he was ready for a nap.

The room was nicer than any they'd stayed in for a long time. Maybe ever. It had no odd colored wallpaper, no horrible theme, and most importantly, no bugs. Even better, the huge tub in the bathroom had the jacuzzi jets. That would do wonders for his sore leg and shoulder. The only thing missing was Magic Fingers on the beds, but the jacuzzi made up for that. The first thing he would try out was the bed, softer and cleaner than what they left behind in the dinosaur room. Then they'd have lunch and discuss options for getting rid of the spirit once and for all.

Part of him still felt bad for Scott. He could easily put himself in the guy's place. If he lost Sam, he'd be just as broken. But he couldn't imagine killing someone else so they could feel the same pain. No one deserved to hurt that bad. He fell asleep with those thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: First the thanks and then a small warning. I can't believe how positive the reviews have been. Thanks so much! Now, the warning is to let you know this is the last of the chapters I had finished when I started posting. What little is left of the story may take a bit more time to post as it is the ending I was struggling with. I promise not to make the wait too long. Cookies might make a difference. Or chocolate? :)_

The last two weeks had been very hard on Sam. The "accident" and subsequent trauma at the hospital still plagued his dreams. He didn't know how many more nights he could relive Dean's heart stopping over and over before he cracked. Hopefully, with him out of the hospital, the dreams would fade. Leaving town couldn't hurt either. Of course, the memories didn't just assault him in his sleep. Even awake, the images of the paramedics trying to resuscitate Dean, watching him struggle to breath through the embolism, and being hit by his car were on constant replay.

The last time Dean went into cardiac arrest was the worst. Watching him struggle for air, genuine fear at the sight of the ventilator, scared Sam. He'd never seen his brother look so young and vulnerable. Then the alarms blared, signaling the end; no respiration, no heart beat, and the controlled chaos of the nurses and doctors trying to revive their dying patient. It didn't take as long as it had in the ambulance, but watching the flat line on the monitor and the defibrillator, was too familiar. He'd watched Dean go through that too many times. He watched that same terrifying sequence take their father forever.

Then it took Dean so long to respond to treatment, to regain consciousness. Sam wasn't sure what he would've done if he'd lost his brother. He knew they were out of miracles. _No more faith healers. No more miracles. Dean would've been gone forever._ He'd even looked for a crossroads, knowing full well Dean would kick his ass for even considering a deal. Unlike him, Sam believed it was a price worth paying, would follow in his father's footsteps without a second thought.

Dean was awake and on the road to a full recovery. Though it did worry him that Dean never inquired about the Impala. In fact, it hadn't even been mentioned since he woke the last time. They would spend a few more days at the motel, take care of the spirit, and put the whole nightmare behind them. In fact, he broke his promise and went to the salvage yard. He was determined to finish this case as quickly as possible. Researching online brought him no closer. The only way was to scan the Caprice. He needed to find what Scott was attached to and hope it wasn't the whole car.

The Impala now needed a new windshield, hood, and bumper. The windshield was easy enough. The other parts were harder to find. The Caprice had what they needed, granted they didn't have to salt and burn the entire vehicle. He could barely even admit it to himself, but he missed the car almost as much as Dean did. He missed the time on the road, listening to the music, and the friendly arguments. He missed the rumbling of the engine and the creaks of the old doors, cramped in the front seat, lulled to sleep by the sound of his brother singing quietly.

_God, I do sound like a girl sometimes. Never, ever sharing that with Dean._

The EMF didn't react immediately, which was a good sign. It didn't react at all until Sam got closer to the back. Reaching to open the back door, he was caught off guard by the sight of the spirit in the driver's seat. Scott took advantage of the moment, opening the door quickly. Luckily Sam caught the door before adding a new head injury to his collection. It hit his hand pretty hard, jarring his wrist. Seeing nothing in the backseat, he returned to scanning the outside. The EMF went crazy at the trunk. Without the keys, he would have to search the trunk later.

His real problem had been hiding what was probably a sprained wrist from his brother. As expected, Dean flipped, furious that he'd had gone without him. When confronted, he couldn't think of a plausible lie, so he went with the truth. He was surprised at how well it worked. His brother skipped the rest of the yelling and went straight to concern. That made the drive to the room peaceful.

The mechanic, still believing he was to blame for the problems with the Impala, was trying to make up for it with a loaner car and better accommodations. He, like Dean, tried to tell Marcus it wasn't necessary, that what happened wasn't his fault. The older man would not be dissuaded.

Sam had moved their stuff to the new room earlier that day and stocked up the small kitchen. He knew it would make dealing with a cooped up Dean much easier, especially when he saw the whirlpool bath in the bathroom. The leg was the injury slowest to heal and the spa would help. He wasn't surprised when Dean refused help to the room. He didn't, however, expect him to take a quick look around and head for the bed.

"Hey, Sam? Wake me for lunch. Then we can come up with a plan to get rid of Sc—the spirit for good."

"You sure you want me to wake you that soon?" _That was weird. Why couldn't he say Scott's name? _He would figure out why his brother avoided saying Scott's name later, when they were both better rested.

"Yeah, I just need a quick nap. I should be good to go after that. And stay away from that car while I'm out. You got it?"

"I got it, I got it. I promise never to do anything without the almighty Dean to save me. Jerk!"

"Damn straight, bitch!" The retort would've been more effective if he hadn't yawned the last word.

Sam decided a nap sounded like a pretty good idea. He'd refused to sleep much the first week of Dean's hospital visit. The second week, sleep eluded him. Nightmares made any real rest impossible. Now that they were out of the setting of those nightmares, maybe he could finally catch up. The sounds of his brother soundly sleeping in the next bed eased his nerves. He fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Dean woke to the sound of his brother's snores, feeling better than he had in days. They both recovered much better away from hospitals, this time obviously no exception. He was relieved to see Sam sleeping peacefully, without the usual nightmares. Looking at the clock, he knew why he felt so rested. It was well after seven in the evening.

"So much for lunch. I guess dinner it is." He opted to see if they had anything in the room to eat. Marcus told him how Sam refused to sleep when things were critical, afraid he'd fall asleep and wake to the loss of his brother. He was pleasantly surprised to find his brother had stocked up, food in the fridge and cabinet of the mini-kitchen. Grabbing a sandwich and chips, he sat at the table, opened the laptop, and reached for their dad's journal.

He wanted a plan of action ready before Sam woke. Plan A would be to salt and burn whatever in the trunk set off the EMF. Knowing how often their Plan A worked, Dean preferred to have at least two back-up plans. While digging through their father's journal, he remembered something Sam said at the hospital. Something that prompted a call to Marcus. The man had already been through a lot. He hoped to spare him any more trouble. It was the least he could do after the mechanic kept Sam together while he was unconscious.

"Hi, Marcus. How's it going?" He hoped he'd called before anything happened. They hadn't had the best luck in this town.

"Hey, Dean. I'm good. How're you feeling? Like the room?"

"Yeah, can't wait to try out that jacuzzi tub later. Listen, I wanted ask you something about the Caprice."

"Sure, what did you want to know?"

"Sam mentioned that you needed to move the other cars around it before we could fix things. Have you done that yet?"

"Not yet. I planned to do it first thing tomorrow. Something wrong?"

He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. _Something finally went right with this job._

"No. I just wanted to make sure we made it safe before you do."

"What do we need to do?"

"Not we, Marcus. Please promise me you'll steer clear of it until we come over and take care of it. I don't want anyone else getting hurt."

"Sure, kid. Whatever you say. What do you do to make it safe?"

"We put a line of salt all around the car. The spirit can't cross it."

"Oh, didn't Sam tell you? He did that after checking out the car earlier today. Though he did say you'd probably have to do it again when you come back. It can get windy around here."

"He didn't mention it. Though I didn't give him much of a chance. I was giving him a pretty hard time about going out there without me and getting hurt." He heard a chuckle on the line. _Sam must've told Marcus I'd give him crap about that._ "Thanks. I'll let you get back to work and talk to you tomorrow."

_Should've known Sam would think to do that. Better safe than sorry. Okay, back to finding Plans B and C._

Knowing the internet would be useless this time, he scoured the journal for something that would rid them of the spirit once and for all. He came across the one Sam must've used to get it out of the Impala. His Plan B was buried at the back of the journal right before information on the Woman in White case, the last case their dad worked while he still had the journal, before leaving it to Dean while he obsessively pursued the Yellow-Eyed Demon. The spell would transfer the spirit to an object of their choosing, an object they could easily salt and burn. _I'll have to remember that one. It could come in handy again._ He hoped one of the first two options worked because Plan C was burning the entire car. And like Sam pointed out, they could really use those parts to fix the Impala.

He was debating whether to wake Sam and make him eat something or let the poor kid sleep when he started mumbling and thrashing. _Great, more nightmares. Guess I'll wake him for now._

"Sam?" he said shaking him a bit. "Come on, man. Rise and shine!" After a couple of more shakes, he managed to wake him, Sam eying him blearily, mind obviously still in his dream. Giving him a few minutes to fully wake, he threw away his garbage from dinner and grabbed what he'd need for a bath.

"Why don't you eat something while I'm in the jacuzzi. When I come out, I'll tell you our plan for getting rid of this damn ghost tomorrow."

"You don't think tomorrow is too soon? The doctor said you needed a few more days bed rest."

"Nah, I'm good. Besides one night in a motel is like three in a hospital. You know we both recover better once we're out. And I did sleep away most of today. Or, I should say, we did. The sooner we clear everything up, the sooner we can both relax."

"True. Just promise me you won't push yourself too hard."

"Right back at ya, little brother. Now go eat. You're cutting into my hot tub time here."

* * *

Sam had to admit Dean was right. He seemed much better than he had this morning. And the jacuzzi should help ease the pain in his leg. Now he hoped they could finish things tomorrow without trouble. The salt should keep everything safe until then. Trusting that Dean had some good ideas, he grabbed a prepackaged salad and club sandwich out of the fridge and settled in to find a new case. He'd hoped to find something to hunt in Fort Worth before the Impala had refused to leave Glen Rose. The town had a few possibilities for hunts. Most looked like the typical tourist draws. It wasn't far, so the drive wouldn't be too hard on Dean. Plus he still wanted to go to a bookstore.

While waiting for Dean's release he found out that the city had not only two major chains, but a few big used bookstores. Used bookstores were a great place to find some rare books for researching their hunts, out of print and unusual books on myths and urban legends. It would be nice to have a way to research when the crap motel they chose didn't have Wi-Fi networks or he couldn't get a signal on the road. After bookmarking a couple of jobs that Dean might say yes to and checking his e-mail, he shut down the laptop and turned on the TV. Since they wouldn't have to do a salt and burn under the cover of night, they could spend the night relaxing and recovering. He'd like to sit and soak in the tub for a while to sooth shoulder and back muscles cramped from days spent in uncomfortable hospital chairs, tensed for signs his brother would be fine, then recovering.

Researching helped him to forget the nightmare that caused Dean to wake him. Television never was enough of a distraction to keep his mind from wandering back to his dreams. The same dreams replayed each time he slept since their trip to the hospital. It always started in the cabin where the Yellow-Eyed Demon possessed their father and tried to kill his brother. Sam would never forget the sight of Dean pinned to the wall, bleeding and begging their father not to let the demon kill him. Then his head fell forward, blood dripping from his mouth, pouring from the wounds on his chest.

Next the nightmare took him to the bar on the pier in Duluth, the place he shot his own brother. He had no control, got to watch as Dean's body plunged off the pier and into the cold water below, jerked back by the shot to his left shoulder. He did get to hear how happy Meg was, thinking she'd finally succeeded in killing Dean, the grief burying his soul deep. He didn't want to see what else she would do with his body, who else she would kill. Waking at Bobby's to see Dean was alive was the happiest moment of his life.

It always ended with the Impala. Watching his brother lose faith in the one constant in this depressing life was more than either of them could bear. Sam couldn't erase the memories. Dean slumped in the front seat, crushed by the steering wheel; performing CPR because he'd stopped breathing; watching him flip on to the hood and crash into the windshield, they refused to fade even a little. Some demons could never be exorcised. Startled to attention by the sound of bathroom door opening, Sam was thrilled to see the jacuzzi worked even better than sleep at healing his big brother. He was humming Ted Nugent, absently smiling as he put away his dirty clothes. The limp was barely noticeable even to him.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" He knew it was a dumb question. It came to them both as naturally as breathing.

As did the patented Winchester answer, regardless of whether it was true or not. "I'm fine. Really, Sam. I am fine. The bath was even better than the nap. Man, I sound like an old geezer now." They both laughed at that.

"Okay, so what did you come up with while I was napping?" _Now who sounds like the geezer?_

"Looks like we have a couple of options if there's nothing in the car to salt and burn. Though one of those is burning the whole car."

"We can't do that." Trying to hide how much that idea bothered him, Sam hoped the other option worked. "There has to be another way."

"Trust me. I don't want to do that either. Which is why it'll be the last resort, only if nothing else will work. The other option is much better. Might even be something we can use on other cases."

"Really? What?"

"I found something in Dad's journal, way at the back. It's an incantation to transfer the spirit to an object of our choosing, something we don't mind burning."

"Wish we'd noticed that sooner. It could've help us a few times."

"If it works. That may be why it's hidden at the back of the journal. Guess we'll find out tomorrow."

Sam only hoped it was as simple as that. Fate seemed to have it in for anyone named Winchester.

* * *

They both woke early, completely refreshed and ready to finish the hunt. They both slept peacefully through the night. It was the first night in a long while Sam hadn't startled them both awake with a nightmare. Dean still marveled at how well the jacuzzi soothed the pain in his leg. And the difference a nice bed made. He would have to find a way to repay Marcus for his generosity, something other than removing Scott's spirit. As much as he wanted to hate the ghost, Dean couldn't help feeling sorry for him. He sympathized only too well with what the man had gone through. But he couldn't let those feelings get in the way of what they had to do. The spirit was dangerous now no matter what he'd been in life. No one tried to kill his little brother and got away with it.

"Hurry it up, Sam! We're burning daylight." He hoped they could finish things quickly and get out of this town. The sooner he saw the backside of Glen Rose, the better. The hard part was getting Sam to see it that way.

"You're kidding, right? It's only 9 in the morning."

"Yeah,and if we hurry, we can finish in time for lunch and hit the road."

"Wait, you said we'd stay a few days. The doctor clearly said you shouldn't try to drive for at least two more days."

_Knew he'd make me do this the hard way. _"And how often do we listen to doctors?" That remark earned him a huff and the pissy face.

"You're the only one too stubborn to listen to a professional. Besides, won't it take a while for Marcus to fix the car once he has the parts?"

"Not really. He's finished everything but the hood and the bumper. Those won't take long since I'll be helping." The look on Sam's face told him he'd pushed too hard. Pissed didn't begin to cover it.

"Damn it, Dean! You're supposed to stay off your leg as much as possible. You shouldn't even be out of bed until tomorrow at the latest."

"Whatever, dude. Just haul your ass out here so we can get this done." He reached for the keys, a second too slow, as Sam snatched them up.

" You can barely bend your leg. You are so NOT driving today."

"Bitch," he muttered, not even trying to hide how irritated he was.

"Jerk!"

The short ride was tense and quiet, broken only by the occasional huff from the driver's seat. Dean had called Marcus while Sam was getting ready. He wanted to make sure they could get to the car before they headed out, but there was no answer. They pulled up to a silent and empty garage. All irritation forgotten, they quickly grabbed their bags and discreetly pulled out the shotguns. Something felt off and judging by Sam's reaction, he felt it too. He only hoped they'd arrived before it was too late.

The salvage yard was eerily quiet as they made their way to the back. Passing the Impala, he couldn't even bring himself to look at her. The memory of what had happened was still too fresh for him to properly deal with his baby. He rounded the last corner, peered around a rusted gray Tempo, and spotted the mechanic sprawled motionless on the ground near the Caprice, blood trickling from a small head wound. The spirit wasn't in sight, not that that mattered.

With shotguns ready, they approached Marcus cautiously. Dean checked for other injuries, relieved to find nothing else. He pulled him outside the salt circle and a safe distance from the car. He tried to get the man to wake, to find out precisely what happened.

"Marcus? Hey, you ok man?" He was relieved when the older man finally started to come to.

"Dean? I saw him. I saw Scott. But that's not it." He seemed a bit stunned, surprisingly not frightened. He was handling it better than Dean expected, better than most of the people they helped.

"What else?"

"I swear it was Scott's little brother. I think I saw Wesley. He was trying to calm his brother down."

_How many ghosts does this freaking town have?_ "I need you to do us a favor and go back to the office and make sure no one comes back until we're done. It can get crazy and I don't want anyone else getting hurt. Oh, and I need the keys to the Caprice."

"Sure thing, kid. You be careful too. Both of you."

While he made sure Marcus got to safety, Sam had the EMF out, scanning the entire length of the car, no longer blocked in by other cars. Marcus managed to move them before the angry spirit manifested.

"Dean, is he ok?"

"Yeah, luckily he only has a bump on the head," he said as he returned to Sam's side. "At least he got the car free first. We need to finish this before that storm moves in." No sooner had he spoken the words than thunder rumbled in the distance and the meter went crazy, the trunk again the source of activity. "Listen, we've got to be sure we're getting rid of the right ghost. Marcus thinks he saw Wesley's ghost here too. I think his spirit has been keeping things quiet, at least until Sc-- his brother's spirit was moved."

"So how do we figure out which spirit is attached to the thing in the trunk?"

"Not sure exactly. If it's his, he'll try to kill us. If it's Wesley, he'll still try to kill us. Maybe we can try to reason with Wesley. First things first though. We need to get whatever is in the trunk. But we have to be careful. You know how protective older brothers can be." He smirked at his little brother and got a look that could sour milk.

Dean headed cautiously to the trunk of the car, alert for any signs of danger, followed closely by Sam. He couldn't even look at the Caprice without a painful reminder of the loss of trust, loss of safety and security. Finding the right item was easy as the only thing in the trunk was an old football, worn from use.

"Didn't you say he played football? It has to be his spirit attached to this."

"It's possible. We need to be sure. We don't want to just piss him off more by accidentally getting rid his brother." Then a couple of things happened suddenly. Lightning crashed nearby, distracting them both. The spirit threw them both, Dean headfirst into the recently moved old red truck, hitting the ground hard and jarring his injured leg as he landed. Looking up to see where Sam landed, to make sure he was ok, he regretted the movement. His head pounded.

_So much for this being quick and simple. Why is it always me they like to throw into the solid objects?_

Getting unsteadily to his feet, he went to check on Sam. He reached out to give his brother a hand standing up. The additional weight increased the pain in his leg and head. He hoped he managed to hide the grimace, determined that Sam not know how bad it was.

"This dude is really starting to piss me off. Let's just burn the football, the car, whatever it takes to smoke his ass." He didn't want to wait around that long for parts, but things were too dangerous to risk it.

"You sure? We haven't even tried the spell from Dad's journal."

"I'm sure. I want that son of a bitch gone. Let's burn it all." As if on cue, Mother Nature conspired against his plan as a steady rain began to pour. "Damn it all to hell! We can't catch one freaking break. Looks like you get to try the spell after all, Sammy."

Dean worried about the rain for more than one reason. It certainly made burning anything more difficult. Transferring the spirit to something small would make it easier to keep it dry enough to burn. But the rain washed away the rest of the salt. He could add more, but if the downpour didn't slow it wouldn't matter.

Sam gathered everything they needed to do the spell, including the wooden object to transfer the spirit to and something to burn the items in, and began. They both figured something easily flammable would make it that much quicker to finish the job. As he began the memorized incantation, Dean retrieved his shotgun, alert for the spirit's appearance. He wouldn't let him get the drop on them again. It took only a couple of minutes. As Sam reached for the EMF meter, he went to grab the football to add it to the fire. Even if the little brother was the one attached to the ball, he knew they needed to take care of both of them. Alone, the quiet spirit would become restless and eventually dangerous too. He almost had his hands on the ball when he heard a strangled cry from his brother. Scott had Sam by the throat dangling him mere inches from the ground.

"Sam!" He aimed his shotgun and fired while running, hoping the rain didn't wash away his ammo before it hit its mark. The spirit dissipated, dropping the young hunter in a crumpled heap, gasping for air. He was amazed the kid didn't have permanent damage to his throat with all the fuglies that tried to choke him to death.

"You ok, Sammy?"

After a couple of seconds of trying to catch his breath, he managed, "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks. Guess we know the spell didn't work."

"I can think of better ways of finding that out." And as suddenly as the rain had started, it stopped.

"It wasn't what I had in mind either, Dean. Damn, I guess that means we have to burn the car. That sucks."

"Not as much you not breathing. Burning the car I can live with. You sit tight. I'll go take care of the car."

"Not by yourself you won't! Just give me a minute to catch my breath. I'm fine to help."

Dean grabbed the salt, lighter fluid, and pulled out his lighter, ready be done with everything that had happened since they got to Glen Rose. Ready to forget all they'd suffered. He should've known it wasn't quite done yet. He finally got the football and tossed it in the window of the car. Seconds later, he was tossed, again into an old vehicle, this time into the ugly, electric blue Escort. Landing on his injured leg, the pain in his head also intensified to the point of nausea. He watched as the spirit went after his little brother again. He couldn't seem to get his body to respond, leaving him unable to help Sam. Trapped in a living hell, he listened as the ghost told Sam what he planned to do to the both of them as he held him up once more by the throat. As Sam's struggles got weaker, he struggled to make his body move, to try to reach the shotgun he dropped as he collided with the car. He saw movement from behind the spirit, saw the spirit of a young boy of about twelve. Dean could hear the boy, talking to his older brother.

"Scott, you have to stop this. You can't take out what happened to me on him."

"Why not? He got the life you didn't, Wesley. It's not fair!"

"He doesn't deserve it. Hurting him won't bring me back."

"But he tried to get rid of me."

"Only because you hurt his brother. Scott, please don't do this. If you don't stop, I'll have to move on and leave you behind. You know I don't want to do that."

"Leave?"

"Yes. The only reason I am still here is to help you. You need to let me go so we can both move on. You can't stay here anymore. You can't keep hurting them. They only want to help."

"But they tried to hurt me, to hurt you."

"Please, Scott. Let him go before you kill him. You can't go with me if you kill him. Please! Mom and Dad should be waiting for us."

He tried to stand, getting as far as his elbows before his vision swam, the pain in his head throbbing with the beat of his heart. He fought to remain conscious, to find a way to help Sam, only to hear as his struggles and gasps for air slowed and stopped. He was vaguely aware of a blindingly bright light and the sound of his brother's body as it hit the ground. The pain in his head receded to the point he could open his eyes and gingerly lift his head. The sight of Sam lying unmoving on the muddy ground terrified him to the point where adrenaline took over and his pain no longer mattered.

"Sam!" _Damn it, Sam. You'd better be alright!_

He didn't think he could live with himself if not. He couldn't lose Sam now, so close on the heels of almost losing him to a demon, almost failing his one job. He silently prayed for some sign that his brother was alive. Stumbling over, he would have jumped for joy as Sam groaned and tried to sit up, struggling to pull in a full breath.

"Whoa, dude. Don't try to get up yet. Give yourself a few minutes."

He was relieved to see color return to Sam's pale features, his breathing getting easier every minute. The bruises on his neck were already starting show, a grim reminder of how close it had been.

"Dean?"

"I'm here. How are you feeling?"

"Like you look. Like crap. How are you?"

"Ha ha. Very funny, Sammy. You don't look so hot yourself there, Francis." Though he was thrilled to hear the sarcastic remark. It was a sure sign that he was going to be fine. "I'm fine. Do you think you can get up? We need to get you back to the room."

"Yeah, just give me a minute."

Dean slowly gathered up their weapons and tools and stowed them in the car. He was trying to ignore his pounding headache, the black spots in his vision. The pain in his leg was excruciating. He wasn't sure how long he could hide it and hoped another soak in the hot tub would ease it. Dean went back to help Sam get to his feet. Almost immediately, Sam lost his balance and attempted to lean on Dean for support. The added pressure on his leg sent them both crashing back to the ground.

"Damn it, Dean! You said you were fine."

"I am fine." He worried that Sam's words came out rough and forced between ragged breaths.

"Yeah, I can see that. Which is why we're back in the mud. Want to try for the truth this time?"

"No." he said in a huff. The look from Sam told him he had no choice. "Fine! I might have landed on my injured leg the last time the ghost tossed me. Happy now?"

"Of course I'm not happy. How bad is it? And no more lies!"

_Crap, when did I get so obvious? _"It isn't that bad. Just a little sore. Honestly. Now can you try to stand again?" He refused to mention how bad his head hurt, fighting nausea as they attempted to stand. The sudden shift in altitude, the throbbing in his head, drove him back to his knees with a groan and forced him to admit the truth. "Ok, I might've left out the concussion." Then he passed out.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: My apologies to any reviews that went unanswered. Life kinda kicked my ass the last couple of weeks. Which is also why this chapter, this way too short chapter, has taken so long. Please be honest with this what you think. I'm not sure how much I like it anyway. Thanks again for all the positive reviews. I hope to get the end up soon as I am about to move. Don't want to try writing and moving at the same time.

* * *

Sam heard his brother slam into the car only seconds before the ghost was upon him, hands wrapped around his throat again. _Why is always me they want to strangle?_

"You and your brother will finally pay for what you did. And I get it my way."

Sam wanted ask what his way was but the strong grip on his throat kept words in as well as it kept the air out. Scott told him anyway.

"Your brother gets to watch as I squeeze the life out of you. Then I get to finish what I started with his car. He'll die in this car like I did. He'll die knowing he couldn't save his little brother."

No sooner had Scott finished than Sam noticed the other spirit.

_It must be Wesley._

He was trying to get his brother to move on. He heard bits of what was going on, worried that Dean hadn't come to help. The only reason he wouldn't be there was if he couldn't. Something was wrong. _Dean!_

Suddenly there was a bright light and the pressure on his throat disappeared, dropping him suddenly. The unexpected drop drove out what little air was left in his lungs and he fought to stay conscious, to breathe. He needed to know Dean was alright. A few moments and a few small breaths later, he heard the one thing he wanted.

"Sam!" _Thank God he's ok! _ Hearing Dean's uneven gait, he worried again that he might be hurt. Groaning, Sam finally pulled in a full breath, sat up, and watched as his brother stumbled to him. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't think well enough to figure it out. But as usual, Dean was more interested in making sure he was fine.

"Whoa, dude. Don't try to get up yet. Give yourself a few minutes."

"Dean?" He could see he was in pain, the cause still a mystery.

"I'm here. How are you feeling?"

"Like you look. Like crap. How are you?"

"Ha ha. Very funny, Sammy. You don't look so hot yourself there, Francis. I'm fine. Do you think you can get up? We need to get you back to the room."

"Yeah, just give me a minute." He still needed to get more air in his lungs so the world would stop spinning. He watched as Dean collected their gear and stowed it in the car, noticing how slow and painful the process. When Dean came to help him stand, he faltered and tried to lean on Dean for more support. When they both fell back to the ground he knew that Dean's leg was the source of the problem. He did what he always did and got pissed that his brother neglected to mention it.

"Damn it, Dean! You said you were fine."

"I am fine."

"Yeah, I can see that. Which is why we're back in the mud. Want to try for the truth this time?"

"No."

Sam gave him a look that clearly conveyed that he wasn't buying it.

"Fine! I might have landed on my injured leg the last time the ghost tossed me. Happy now?"

"Of course I'm not happy. How bad is it? And no more lies!" _Stupid, frustrating idiot!_

"It isn't that bad. Just a little sore. Honestly. Now can you try to stand again?"

The pain in Dean's expression seemed to be more than just his leg. He looked like he was going to be sick. As they got back to their feet, he groaned, and dragged them both back to the ground.

"Ok, I might've left out the concussion." His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

"Crap! Come on, Dean. Wake up!" He knew he was overreacting. He couldn't help it. It was too soon after Dean's brushes with death to be rational. Trying to breathe through his own pain, it took several minutes for him to finally rouse his brother.

"Dean?" He watched his eyes flutter and try to open. "Come on, man. I'm not up to carrying your heavy ass out of here on my own. You need to wake up and help me a little."

Another groan and Dean opened his eyes to attempt an irritated look. "Always said you were a wuss."

"Whatever, dude. Can we get out of here now?" The sooner he could make sure Dean wasn't seriously injured again, the better.

"Definitely. Don't forget to tell Marcus it's all clear now."

"Are you sure it's finished? Did you see what happened?"

"Yeah. The little brother saved the day. Convinced Scott to move on with him. What I don't get is if Wesley has always been here and could get his brother to move on, why wait until now? Why wait until Scott got violent? Nothing on this case has been normal. Well, normal for us."

"Not sure. Maybe it had something to do with Scott's death being a suicide?" _Dean has a very good point. I'll have to look into that further. _Dean stumbled and would've fallen if not for Sam's grip on his arm and waist."Hey, no fainting again."

"I so did not faint! Fainting is for girls, like you Samantha."

"Fine, passed out. That butch enough for you?"

Since things had gotten so rough, Sam was going to insist on the three days of bed rest the doctor ordered. No matter how much Dean complained, he wasn't going to get his way this time. Of that Sam was certain. That and the job finally felt finished. That lingering doubt was finally gone.

* * *

By the time they got back to their hotel, Dean looked more alert and sounded more his usual self, bugging the younger hunter about his injuries. Sam was more than relieved to know things were over. They'd rest a few days, get the car, and head out for their next hunt.

He was slightly worried at his brother's lack of interest in his car. It was understandable after what happened, but so unnatural for Dean. He completely freaked when anyone breathed wrong on it. Now it was out of commission and it never even came up in conversation unless Sam mentioned it first. He had no idea how to get Dean to trust his baby again. People could talk things out. That wasn't an option with a car.

The minute they were back in the room, Dean pulled out their ice pack, filled it and put it on Sam's neck, then grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom. While Dean soaked his leg in the jacuzzi, Sam stepped outside the room and called the only other person who knew Dean well enough to help. It was a call he wasn't looking forward to. He'd have to tell Bobby what happened and explain why he didn't call when Dean got to the hospital. Bobby, for all his gruffness, treated them like his own kids. He was father, friend, and fellow hunter in a way John never figured out how to be with his own children.

"Hey, how's it going, Bobby?" He tried to sound normal, but lying to Bobby always made him uncomfortable.

"Hey, Sam. What's up? Everything ok?"

"Umm...yeah. We're good. I've been going through some research and couldn't find what I needed. I have a favor to ask."

"Sure thing, kid. Whatcha need?"

"Do you have a spell or a charm to keep a spirit out of an object? Those charms you gave us after I..." _After I shot my brother. How much more can Dean go through before he gives up, before it kills him?_

"I'm sure I can come up with something. What's it for? You sure you're ok? You don't sound like you're breathing so good."

_Crap, I can't even hide things from him over the phone. He's as bad as Dean. May as well get this over with._ "Yeah, just what usually happens when I have a run-in with a ghost. Now about that charm. Will the size of the object make a difference? I mean do you need to know how large it is before you make it? Or is it one size fits all?" He tried to stop rambling, knew that's what he did when he was nervous. He also knew that Bobby knew.

"Boy, just what have you idjits got yourselves into now? What do you need the charm for? And where's Dean? He ok?"

"Dean's fine. He's in the bath." Sam knew he couldn't put off the truth for much longer. Bobby was too smart to be fooled for long. "We've been working this haunted intersection in Texas. Things got a little out of hand. Ended up with more than one ghost."

"What exactly do you mean by out of hand and what the hell is the charm for?" _He's not as bad as Dean. He's worse. Like a dog with a bone._

With a sigh, he answered. "It's for the Impala."

"Wait, you boys left for Texas a month ago. You still on the same case? What the hell happened out there?"

Sam went on to tell him about all that happened up to the point where he retrieved the journal from the car. Bobby was also surprised about Suzanne's spirit being happy to be dealt with. It was a first for all of them. He still didn't have the heart, or truthfully, the nerve to admit to the rest of it. "We've gotten the spirit out of the car, but not before...Dean..." His voice caught in his throat. He couldn't even talk about what happened without the fear coming back to haunt him.

"Dean what? What ain't you telling me?"

"The spirit...hurt Dean. Hurt him pretty bad." The tears were there again. He tried to hold them back. Dean was fine now. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Sam? You said Dean was fine."

"He is now. Mostly. But he wasn't." Tears flowed freely as he tried to tell his story. "The ghost, the brother of the kid who died in the original accident, crushed Dean between the seat and the steering wheel. He stopped breathing for two whole minutes. Then the spirit...then it..."

"What? Sam, what did it do?"

"It ran him over. Oh god, Bobby it ran him over with his own car. His heart stopped twice before getting to the hospital. He died and there was nothing I could do to stop it or help. Then...when he finally woke up almost 48 hours later it got worse." The tears were followed by sobs. He hadn't said any of what happened out loud until now. "A blood clot traveled from his leg, where the car hit him, to his lungs. His heart and lungs both stopped again. He almost didn't come back from that. It was Sioux Falls all over. I almost lost him again. I can't keep doing this, watching him die. It's killing me too."

"Damn! I'm sorry kid. You should've called me sooner. You didn't have to go through that by yourself."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner. I was just so afraid to leave him until I knew he was going to be ok. And I didn't want to worry you. He only got out of the hospital yesterday."

"You need me to come and help finish the job?"

"No. The idiot insisted we finish that today. Which is why I sound the way I do and he's soaking the leg he probably re injured in the hot tub. I need to find a way to get Dean to trust his baby again. He won't talk about it, can't even look at it. I don't know how to fix this. I hoped a protective charm like you gave us after Meg would put his mind at ease."

"I'll see what I can come up with. Do you know where you're headed next?"

"We should be here for a few more days. Then we might head up to Fort Worth. It isn't far, but far enough from here."

"Let me look into a couple of things. Give me a couple of hours and I'll call you back."

"No, I'll call you. I don't want Dean to know about it until we're sure it'll work. He's having a hard enough time without me getting his hopes up unnecessarily."

"You got it. You look out for that brother of yours in the meantime."

"Thanks, Bobby. Really. I'll be in contact in two hours." He desperately hoped the older hunter could find something soon. If anyone could, it was Bobby.

* * *

Sitting in the tub with nothing to distract, Dean's thoughts raced. He was still at a loss for how everything had gone so horribly wrong. No change in scenarios came out with a better outcome. He lost his one constant and it terrified him. He'd barely had a chance to come to terms with the betrayal at Sam's hands. Knowing it wasn't really him only worked to a point. Nightmares took his fears and magnified them tenfold. He wanted to believe things were ok between them, made sure Sam thought they were. Though he realized he wasn't hiding it as well when it came to the Impala. That pain was still too fresh.

It was bad enough the attacks plagued his dreams. When he couldn't keep his waking mind occupied, they were all he could see. Three days in a hotel with no hunt, no research would drive him over the edge. Every time Sam brought up the car, he saw it as it raced toward Sam, felt the pain as it struck him instead. Seeing it in the salvage yard, Dean was tempted to just leave it there. He'd been fully prepared to burn the Caprice, almost hoped that burning it would help him get past his fear of the Impala.

Deep down he knew the fear was irrational, that with the spirit gone the attacks were over. The damage was done. His father never really taught him how to deal with his fears. _Fear is for the weak and Winchesters are anything but weak._ All he learned was how to hide the fears, bury them deep so they would go away. They never did. They festered. They grew. And his subconscious had a field day with them.

Their father's death took his ability to hide things from Sam. Almost losing Sam to a demon amplified his biggest fear, ending up alone. With the Impala, he lost his anchor, the only one he could count on not to leave. He almost wished the car had succeeded in killing him. Then he wouldn't have to deal with his fears, his feelings, or all the other things he wasn't capable of dealing with. Almost. The thought of leaving Sam to fight his own fears of turning evil was all that stayed his hand. He had to be there for his little brother no matter what.

Realizing he'd been in the bath for over half an hour, he knew if he didn't get out soon that Sam would start worrying. As he dressed, he noticed the bath helped with the pain in his leg again. It still hurt more than it had that morning, but it was noticeably better. He was ready to leave town, even if it meant pretending he was fine with driving the Impala. He came out of the bathroom as Sam was coming back into the room.

"Where'd you go?" He didn't mean to snap. Trying to make up for it, he tried again. "Sorry. You ok? How's your neck?"

"It's better, no swelling at all. I went for a walk. I needed some fresh air."

"Ok, so what do you want to do for lunch?"

"I thought we'd eat in. I want to look up some stuff."

"What stuff? The job is definitely over this time."_ God, I hope it's over. I don't think I could take __another ghost right now._

"I know. But you brought up a good point. If Wesley could get Scott to move on, why wait until now? There has to be a reason. I wanted to look into it."

After a quick lunch, Sam buried himself in research. Dean settled in to watch a little cable. He wanted a beer, but alcohol and his medication didn't play well together. He settled for a soda and some peanut M&Ms. The Sci Fi Channel was running a horror movie marathon and it just started "My Bloody Valentine". It only took about fifteen minutes for him to fall asleep, the events of the day having taken their toll. The dream started like all the others.

He's pinned to the wall, staring into his father's yellow eyes. But this time the demon is smarter. He knows the best way to truly hurt Dean is to hurt Sam instead. It is Sam is bleeding, dying. Sam begging their father not to kill him, for Dean to help. He's helpless to stop it. The Yellow Eyed Demon takes John's body, the Colt, and the car, leaving Dean to watch his brother die.

Then he's in the bar in Duluth. Only this time it is Yellow Eyes that is possessing Sam. Jo is dead before Dean can even try to save her. He still shoots Dean, this time making sure the job is finished, leaving Dean with the knowledge that there isn't anyone powerful enough to stop him. The nightmare always ends the same way. Sam is walking across the parking lot, the Impala speeding toward him. Dean races out to save his brother when suddenly the car is heading for him. The last thing he sees is Sam, an evil glint in his yellow eyes, behind the wheel.

"NO!!" He woke suddenly to see Sam watching him, a worried look in his eyes. He looked away quickly, still stuck in the dream, afraid to see his eyes turn yellow._ Damn, I guess I'm not handling things with Sam any better than the car._

"When are we going to talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" _I can't let him know about that dream. He's scared enough about his supposed destiny as it is._

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the nightmares. Or the car. You won't look at it. You never ask about it. That's just not like you."

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine, so give it a rest."

"Dean, you can't keep bottling things up. It's going to kill you."

"No, all of your nagging will do that fine. Now did you find what you were looking for?"

"Not really. There's so much lore on ghosts it's hard to know what, beyond the basics, is true. Hunters rarely come across one that isn't causing trouble, so there isn't much practical information that we don't already have. My best guess is that Wesley was dormant until Scott was removed from their car. I'd like to ask Bobby about it. See if he's ever come across, or heard about something like this."

"Sounds like a good idea. As long as the ghost is gone we don't have to hang around here. We can solve the mystery of why anywhere." He knew the change of subject wouldn't hold Sam for long. Better to skirt the issue than try to avoid it altogether. "Any word from Marcus?" _See? Asking about the car. _He hoped that would be close enough to talking for Sam. Otherwise it was going to be a very long night.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Ok, I'm SO sorry to keep you waiting. Between the packing, moving, unpacking and putting together the beginnings of a new small business, my personal life has been in complete upheaval. I'm also sorry this is another short chapter. I have probably one chapter left after this. It will be posted in the next couple of days. All constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, and added to favorites this endeavor. I hope the end, when it finally comes, does not disappoint.**

* * *

Sam stepped outside the room and dialed Bobby, hoping he had some good news. Dean needed to be able to trust his car again and Sam would do everything in his power to make that happen. He knew his brother was hurting no matter how much he tried to hide it. The physical pain was the easy part though. They'd dealt with that often enough to know how to push through it. The emotional pain, the constant loss of trust, would be Dean's undoing. He bottled it up, refusing to let Sam help. To let anyone help. The only person Sam knew that could get his brother to not so much open up, but at least let go of things was Bobby. Even before their father passed away, Bobby had his complete trust and loyalty. For that, Sam was extremely grateful. He realized now that he should've called the older hunter as soon as Dean was admitted to the hospital. He deserved that much. As did Dean.

After several rings, Bobby answered. "Sam. How's your brother doing?"

"He's good. After his bath we had lunch. Now he's having a nap."

This made the older man laugh quietly. "He'd love to hear you saying that out loud."

"Yeah, well I'm happy he can hear me say anything. Sorry, guess I'm still not dealing well with what happened. Did you find something?"

"You sure you don't need me to come down there? You know I don't mind."

"No, we'll be fine. Besides we should be leaving soon anyway. Dean will want to go as soon as the car is ready, whether he's ready to drive it or not."

"Ok. I didn't find an answer to your question about the ghosts. That one still has me stumped. But I think I can help with the charm. I know a couple of people about an hour from you that should be able to help. They aren't Hunters, but they've been known to help from time to time. I'll e-mail you their contact information as soon as we're done here."

"Thanks, Bobby. Really. I only hope it will help. I've never seen Dean so uninterested in his car. It's sort of unnerving." With a small ray of hope, Sam could feel some of the weight lift off his shoulders.

"I'm sure he'll be fine. He's a lot stronger than he thinks. You make sure to let me know how it goes. And let me know if you find out what was up with those ghosts. It's damn weird."

"I will. And thanks again. Maybe I can get him to stop by the next time we're close."

"You know you're always welcome. Take it easy, kid. And don't let your brother push himself too hard. I know how stubborn all you Winchesters can be. Tell the idjit to call me."

After talking with Bobby, he called Marcus to check on the car. The repairs were almost done, should be ready by the next day. And he found something in the Caprice he thought they'd like to see, that might prove helpful. Sam felt better than he had in days. The possibility of help for Dean and a case that was finally over were both cause for celebration. All he had to do now was make sure Dean stayed in Glen Rose long enough to heal. Once he was back in the room, he went straight back to the laptop, determined to figure out why Wesley waited so long to get Scott to move on. _Why wait until it got so dangerous?_ On a more personal level, he still wanted to know why Dean was so hesitant to call Scott by name. It was out of character for his brother to connect with a spirit, even more so with one that wanted them dead. He was pulled from his thoughts by a sound from his brother.

He looked up to see Dean, tossing and turning, lost in a nightmare. He caught an occasional word, mostly just his name. When he heard a whispered, "Dad, please," he knew at least part of the dream. He'd never forget the only time his brother ever uttered that phrase. He could picture the scene in his mind like it was yesterday, Dean begging their father not to let the Demon kill him just before he passed out from pain and blood loss still pinned to the wall. He debated waking him from the dream, but didn't want his brother to know he'd been listening in.

When Dean woke screaming, Sam knew it was time. "When are we going to talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" He could hear the remnants of fear in his voice.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the nightmares. Or the car. You won't look at it. You never ask about it. That's just not like you." _And it scares me._

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine, so give it a rest."

"Dean, you can't keep bottling things up. It's going to kill you."

"No, all of your nagging will do that fine. Now did you find what you were looking for?"

Sam decided to let it go for now. Pushing too hard would only make him close up completely. He mentioned possibly talking to Bobby about the ghost issue. That would make any other calls about Dean and the Impala not so awkward. He'd try again later to get his brother to open up or at least stop shutting him out. They only recently cleared the air and could talk about their father without a wall coming up between them. He was also willing to accept Dean's attempt to change the subject to the car. It was better than more silence and averted eyes.

"Yeah, it'll be ready first thing tomorrow. He also said he found something of Scott's in the Caprice, a journal. Since they had no family left, he said we could take. Thought it might help put things to rest."

"So we're stuck here one more night? I guess that's not too bad."

"Just one night? Damn it, Dean! You need to stay off that leg for a minimum of three days, especially after today." He could already tell no amount of screaming or begging would win this argument, but he'd try anyway.

"You can forget that crap. We leave as soon as the car is ready. Besides, my leg doesn't hurt that bad."

"And I'm sure your head doesn't hurt anymore either. You know, all I ask is a couple of days to keep matters from getting worse. Is that too much?"

"Sam! This isn't open for discussion. The sooner we leave this damn town, the better. Any ideas on where we can head next."

Knowing the discussion truly was over, he gave in. It'd make their last night in town less tense. They spent the evening going over the possibilities he'd found before everything went to hell.

* * *

They both woke early. Dean, with stiffness in his injured leg, wanted to get one last soak in the hot tub before leaving. He knew they'd never be able to afford another room that had one. He was glad Sam wasn't pressing him to stay anymore. He felt that distance from Glen Rose would help him get past his anxiety over his car. He hoped it would be that simple.

"Hey, while you're in the shower I'm going to get coffee and doughnuts. Any special requests?" He didn't tell Sam he planned to get the car as well. The sooner he got that over with the better. Without a little brother hovering and asking if he was ok.

"No, but wait 10 minutes and I'll go with you. We can go to the diner by the garage and get the car."

"I can be there and back before you finish. You know you take longer than ten minutes to do all your girly primping."

He left before Sam had a chance to argue. It took a little longer than expected to drop off the loaner car. Marcus was so excited with the work on the Impala he wanted to talk all about it.

"Your baby is running perfectly now. Not a dent or scratch on her anymore."

Dean almost flinched when he called the car his baby. It would be a while before he'd be able to do that. But he didn't want the mechanic see how uneasy he was about getting behind the wheel for the first time since the accident.

"Oh, before you take off, I have something I found in the Caprice."

"Yeah, Sam mentioned you found a journal. You sure you want to give that to us?"

"Sure. He told me what happened, how Wesley helped. He also mentioned that you were concerned about a few things. I thought a bit of insight into Scott when he was alive might help. You and Sam remind me a lot of those boys."

"I'll give it to Sam as soon as I get back. We'll let you know what we find."

"You boys take care and stop by if you're ever in these parts."

"We will, and thanks again for everything. Mostly what you did for Sam. And don't hesitate to call if you ever have one of our kinds of problems." Dean liked the man and knew another mechanic he'd probably get along pretty well with. Both of them gruff and stubborn on the outside and caring when it mattered.

Walking toward the Impala, he tried to look as calm as possible though his heart was racing. He quickly got behind the wheel and started the car, knowing the sooner he faced his fears the sooner he'd get past them. A tightness in his chest gradually increased on the short trip to the diner across the street, a tightness that receded as soon as he stepped out of the car. _That wasn't so bad. This'll be a piece of cake._

In no time at all, he had coffee and doughnuts, ready to head back to the room. Ready to prove to his little worry wort of a brother that they could leave that day. Again, he entered the car without hesitation, too fast to acknowledge any fear, and started the short drive back to the hotel. Unfortunately, what was supposed to be a short drive became an agonizing wait at a few stoplights, right in the middle of the morning rush hour. The first light wasn't too bad. The tightness still dull enough to breathe through. By the time he got through the second light, slight panic was setting in, memories of the steering wheel pushing all the air from his lungs.

The panic caused a shortness of breath and by the time he got through the third and final light, he was beginning to feel the lack of oxygen, which increased the level of panic. As he pulled into the parking lot, time seemed to stand still, the memories having completely taken over. He could almost feel the crush of the wheel, the burn in his lungs. He must've leaned forward onto the horn because the next thing he knew the door was open, Sam coaxing him to breathe slowly. As soon as he got himself more under control, he quickly got out of the car. The best way he knew to get the panic under control was to remove himself from the situation causing it.

He was pissed at himself for losing control so easily, but more so for putting that scared look on his brother's face. Again. He knew there was no way Sam would let them leave town yet. Not when Dean couldn't drive three blocks without having a panic attack. He hated looking so weak, especially to Sam. So he did what he always did in moments like that. He tried to pretend it never happened then tried to joke it off. Neither of which were very successful seeing as he wasn't yet able to easily take a full breath.

"Damn it, Dean! You said you were just going for coffee. Why the hell couldn't you wait for me to go get the car?"

"Because I'm not freaking four! I didn't need my little brother to hold my hand and take me there. It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal? Really? So that's why you were passed out in the front seat?"

"Just drop it, Sam!" He so did not want to go into it with his brother. It was bad enough that it even happened. But for Sam to see it was the one thing he wanted to avoid.

"Not this time. Why wouldn't you wait? I know there's a reason."

"To avoid precisely what happened. I didn't want you to see that." He hadn't planned on telling Sam the truth. It simply seemed like the easiest way to get the conversation over with with as little embarrassment as possible.

"Why? Do you really believe that I'd think less of you because you had a panic attack? That is what happened, right?"

"God, it sounds so lame when you call it that. It wasn't so bad until I got stuck at stoplights. I would've made it here fine otherwise."

"There's no reason to be ashamed of it. It's a perfectly natural response to what you went through. I'd be more worried if it didn't affect you."

"Can we at least take this discussion inside. I don't need the whole town to hear it." He grabbed their breakfast from the car and headed for the relative privacy of their room. Sam continued the conversation as he followed.

"You didn't answer my first question. Do you really believe I'd think less of you?"

"No. It's not that." _Not really._

"Then what? Talk to me."

"Fine! If I tell you, can we please stop talking about it?" Sam nodded his response. "How the hell can I stop a demon if I can't even drive my own car without freaking out? How am I supposed to protect you? I couldn't keep you from being possessed. Hell, I couldn't even keep a car safe." _Dad should've stayed. Should have let me die. Then Sam would be safe._

Sam looked at him, obviously at a loss for words. It was all the confirmation Dean needed. He knew their father would've protected Sam from being possessed. Would be the only one that could keep him safe from his supposed destiny. Now he knew that Sam felt the same way. "Dad would've been able to keep you safe from the demon." _What good am I?_


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I know this chapter is another short one. It will probably make the final chapter just as short. But with the holidays taking up so much time (retail and Christmas will suck out your soul), I didn't want to leave the story for so long. A big hug and thanks goes out to the kind soul that nominated this story for a SNFA fan fiction award in the "Oprah's Book Club" category in Round 16. It is great honor to be thought of as worthy. :-)

* * *

Sam headed for the shower in a huff. He wasn't stupid. He knew Dean well enough to know he was hiding something and he had a pretty good idea what. He wanted to get the car without his little brother seeing his fear. No matter how many times they discussed it, Dean refused to totally let his guard down around him. He refused to believe that Sam could see his flaws and still look up to him. To Sam, it was those supposed flaws that made his big brother the person he most wanted to be like. His need to put others before himself and have absolute faith in his family were only a couple. Dean would always be his hero.

He showered quickly on the off chance that Dean did only go for breakfast. He booted up the laptop and waited. Five minutes became fifteen and he knew he'd been right. At twenty-five minutes he began to worry. Seconds before he finished dialing his brother's number, he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine. It brought an unexpected rush of relief. He hadn't realized how much he missed the car, the sense of home, until that moment. The engine stopped, but he didn't hear the creak of the door. Maybe Dean needed a minute alone with his car. When the horn blared without a break, he knew something was wrong.

Rushing from the room with a dreaded sense of deja vu, he saw his brother slumped in front of the steering wheel, head pressing the horn. A paralyzing fear threatened to overwhelm him as he raced to open the door and check his brother's condition. The minute Sam made contact, Dean raised his head off the horn and gasped for air. For a second, Sam thought that maybe they made a mistake, that the ghost was back. Until he noticed Dean sounded more like he was hyperventilating than unable to breath.

"Dean? Dean! You have to calm down. You have to slow your breathing or you'll faint again." When the insinuation garnered no response, he grabbed Dean by the chin, turned his face so they were eye to eye and tried to get his brother to focus, to get himself under control. After what felt like an eternity, Dean finally got his breathing under control and jumped up. With the rush of fear past, Sam channeled the adrenaline into being pissed at his brother. "Damn it, Dean! You said you were just going for coffee. Why the hell couldn't you wait for me to go get the car?"

"Because I'm not freaking four! I didn't need my little brother to hold my hand and take me there. It's not that big a deal."

"Not that big a deal? Really? So that's why you were passed out in the front seat?"

"Just drop it, Sam!"

"Not this time. Why wouldn't you wait? I know there's a reason." He knew the reason. He just wondered if Dean could admit the truth. To his surprise, that was exactly what he did, including the panic attack and even why he was so embarrassed about it. Dean said their dad should've been the one to live, that he couldn't protect his little brother if he couldn't even keep a car safe.

Sam was so unprepared for what he said it took a few seconds for it to process. Not only did Dean believe that Sam would think less of him, he even believed less of himself. Apparently, his lack of an immediate response was confirmation in Dean's eyes. What came next, the look of defeat in his brother's eyes, as he spoke, shook his world. "Dad would've been able to keep you safe from the demon."

_I can't believe you still don't think you're worth saving._

When he was able to speak again he said, "You know I don't feel that way. I can't believe you'd even think it." He tried to find the words to convince his brother he was serious. To let him know how glad he was he still had his brother. "I know it is an awful thing to say, but when Dad died a very small part of me was relieved it was him and not you. I would've done anything to bring you back. I know he and I couldn't work together like you and I do. We are a team, equals. With Dad, it was always his way no matter what. I do miss Dad. I miss him a lot. But if I had to choose, it would be my brother every time."

He watched the play of emotions on his brother's face, the hope, the fear, and the denial. When Dean looked away without saying or acknowledging the words, Sam knew he chose to accept denial. He would never believe he was good enough. The only way he could help was to repair the lost trust, in him and the Impala. As much as Dean tried to hide it, he knew his possession was still an issue. The nightmares were proof of that. So Sam would do what he always did. Drop the issue for the moment. They had time to deal with it.

After quickly eating their breakfast, Sam tried to keep the conversation on business and failed miserably. "So did Marcus give you Scott's journal? I'm hoping something in there will answer a few lingering questions."

"Yeah. I left it in the car. I figured you could read it while I drive."

"You want to leave now? I think we should wait until tomorrow, give your leg more of a chance to heal."

"This isn't up for discussion. Get your stuff packed. We leave in ten minutes."

"Could you at least let me drive?" The last thing he wanted to do was continually hound him about such a sensitive issue, but he wanted to avoid a replay of the last couple of weeks. He never wanted to see the inside of a hospital again.

"Sam, I'm fine. I'll be fine. Now let's get going."

Sam huffed at the stupidity of it all, but once Dean made up his mind it was impossible to change it. He gathered up what little was still lying around while his brother grabbed his bags and left to load them in the car. Trying not to be obvious, he watched as Dean left the room, glad that the limp was much less pronounced than yesterday.

He grabbed his duffel and computer bag and followed his brother out of the room. Maybe leaving this town and its bad memories would be a good thing, make forgetting easier. After stowing his gear, he picked up the journal and thumbed through it while Dean checked them out of the room. It looked like Scott started it before his parents died and wrote regularly until the end. He really hoped the answers he needed were in there. He watched Dean return from the hotel office, looking for any signs they should stay another day. Aside from the leg and the emotional damage, there was no reason for them to stay.

As expected, another offer to drive was rejected, though without the previous anger behind it. The only hurdle left was to get him to stop after only an hour or so of driving. They'd talked about some of the possible cases in Fort Worth. Dean hadn't said yes to any of them. But he also hadn't said no. Bobby e-mailed the contact information he needed for the people who might be able to help. Now he just had to get Dean to agree to meet with them. To accept what little help Sam had to offer. If it took playing the little brother card, that's precisely what he'd do.

As they got into the car, he kept an eye on his brother. He intended to be ready to take over if Dean had another panic attack. As it was, he tensed but didn't show any other signs of discomfort. "Think we could still swing by Fort Worth? I'd really like to go to a bookstore before we find our next hunt."

"Sure. Any of those stores have a bar nearby?"

"One of the used bookstores has one practically next door." He had another, more important reason for choosing the town. One that might change Dean's mood where the Impala was concerned. "You know what else we should do while we're there? We should visit the auto plant. You could see where the Impala was originally assembled."

"You don't have to keep doing that, Sam. I told you I'm fine."

"I know. I just thought since the dinosaur park was a bust we could try something else you'd enjoy. You're willing to go to a bookstore for me."

"We'll see."

Sam let it go. He opened Scott's journal and started reading. Though for a while he checked on Dean every few minutes to make sure he didn't have another panic attack. When he saw his brother physically relax and release his tense grip on the steering wheel, he felt it was safe to focus his attention on the journal entries.

The man's life was normal up to the end of his high school years. His journal entries were about his steady girlfriend, school, friends, and sports. He loved to play football and couldn't wait to play in college. He talked about his dreams of professional football. He had a typical relationship with his parents. The biggest surprise was how much he doted on his little brother.

Sam knew that Dean would do anything and everything for him, already had. But he'd been sure their relationship was different due to the circumstances in which they grew up. The closeness they had was part love, part survival instinct, or so he'd thought. He was beginning to see things in a new light. It was, as Dean always said, simply a big brother thing.

Scott mentioned proudly all of Wesley's accomplishments. Everything from learning to tie his shoes and his first day of school to spelling bees and science fairs. Apparently, little brothers were always the geeks who loved school. After the tornado that took their parents, the entries became more serious. It was obvious that he grew up suddenly. He lost his steady girlfriend when she couldn't accept coming second in his life. His friends all went away to college. He talked about giving up a full ride to UT in order to take care of his brother, but didn't resent Wesley for it one bit. He bought a small house with what was left of the insurance money and got a job in the small town.

For a couple of years, everything went fine. Scott got a promotion at work. Wesley won the regional science fair and learned to play football, just like his big brother. They both loved the Dallas Cowboys. As a twelfth birthday present, Scott scrimped and saved to get tickets to a game, seats on the 50 yard line. Then came the accident. The last few journal entries were heartbreaking in the guilt Scott felt. He truly believed he was to blame for his brother's death. He refused to listen when friends tried to help him through his grief. He felt he deserved the pain. When he began seeing and hearing Wesley wherever he went, he felt that was fair punishment, even if his brother's spirit was trying to convince him otherwise. Wesley's ghost wanted him to forgive himself and get on with his life. The last entry was Scott's goodbye. He apologized to Wesley for failing him, for taking the coward's way out, but he couldn't keep going on. Without his little brother, he didn't have a purpose, couldn't care about himself. He even apologized to his parents for screwing up.

The last few entries scared Sam to his very core. He feared that was exactly what his brother would believe, what he would do in a similar situation. Dean spent his entire life putting his little brother first, just like Scott. Sam had sudden need to confront his brother. He needed to know, with the dangerous line of "work" they were in, that his own death wouldn't also mean the death of his brother.

* * *

Dean knew Sam was trying to help. A few weeks ago, he would've jumped at the chance to visit the plant where his baby was assembled. Now he only wanted to find a new hunt, something else to kill to occupy all of his waking thoughts. He turned on the radio, determined to end the discussion, turned the car onto the highway and headed north. As Zeppelin changed to Bad Company, he noticed the tightness in his chest, the difficulty breathing, the paralyzing fear were under control. At first he thought the music was the reason, but realized it was his brother. Sam's presence was enough to calm his frazzled nerves. That realization allowed him to release his death grip on the steering wheel and try to relax for their short drive to Fort Worth.

Settling in, he was glad when Sam stopped checking how he was doing every two minutes and started reading the journal. He was as anxious as his little brother to have some answers where those particular ghosts were concerned. He still felt bad for Scott. He could imagine how awful it was to see his baby brother die right before his eyes, could understand his feelings of guilt at not preventing it. Dean could even understand Scott's death. If he lost Sam, there wasn't much keeping him from the same conclusion. Losing his brother was Dean's greatest fear.

As they entered the outskirts of Fort Worth, he felt Sam's eyes boring holes in him and looked over to confront him about it. Until he saw the look in his eyes. Dean was caught off guard by the sadness and fear.

"Sam?" When his brother looked away, looked down at the journal, he tried to get him to talk. "Dude, what's up?"

"Would you really do it? If something happened to me, would you just give up?"

"What the hell, Sam? Where did that come from?"

"He sounds just like you. It's why you avoided saying his name most of the time. You sympathized with him. Could imagine his pain."

"That doesn't mean anything. I just felt bad for the guy."

"Then answer the question."

Dean didn't know how to answer. If he told the truth, that he wasn't sure what he'd do, Sam would freak. But if he denied it, Sam would see through it. He always seemed to know when Dean was lying or keeping a secret. He thought avoidance would be the safest course.

"Does it have an explanation for why both of them hung around for so long?"

"I think so, but you still haven't answered my question."

He knew Sam wouldn't let something so important go, but he'd try. "Because it's a stupid question. Now what did you find?"

"Damn it, Dean. It's not a stupid question. You just don't want to answer it. You would, wouldn't you? You'd throw away your whole life."

Dean stared ahead, refused to look Sam in the eye. _Maybe I could ignore him until he gave up._ When a huff sounded from the other side of the car, he thought he won. He should've known better. He also should have seen the sucker punch that came with the next sentence.

"I don't want you to do that. Not because of me. You deserve better. Better than what you've been through and better than what you think you deserve. You have just as much right to your dreams as everyone else. There is more to your life than watching out for me. More than being what Dad wanted."

Dean stopped dreaming of a normal life years ago. It was too painful to want what he'd never have. So he clung tightly to what he did have. Sam. He still refused to answer the question. He knew Sam didn't understand. Couldn't understand. Then his little brother showed there were things he didn't get either.

"I think I know now why Wesley stayed. I think he stayed to save his brother, to get him to let go and move on with his life. Scott couldn't let go and trapped his brother's soul with his. His pain and guilt wouldn't let either of them move on."

Dean heard between the lines what Sam was trying to say to him. Save Sam's soul by not giving in. It was a low blow and probably the only one that would work. It also made perfect sense. Removing the part from the Caprice, separated the souls for the first time since Wesley's death. Wesley was free, but he didn't want to leave without his brother. He needed an outside influence to help set Scott free as well.

"I get what you're saying. I do. Can we talk about something else now?"

"You are an ass. You know that?"

"I'm an ass. Got it. Now where's that bookstore of yours?" Dean didn't know why Sam was suddenly so adamant about going to a bookstore. He was pretty sure his brother was up to something, but had no idea what. He was glad they would be out of the car soon. His leg was feeling a bit stiff and after that conversation he _really_ needed a beer. Or maybe something stronger.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Apparently I was wrong about this being the last chapter. The story has decided to hang on just a bit longer. The actual last chapter should be done by next week._

_A/N2: I promise the two girls in this chapter are NOT Mary Sue's. No relationships, not even a little nookie on the side. Just necessary for the story's conclusion._

* * *

They pulled into what looked like a typical strip center, one with little to offer besides a health food store, a sushi bar, and auto window tinting. He spotted the bar just past the strip center, more a corporate chain bar and grill than their usual choices, but they served alcohol so it would do. He didn't see the bookstore at first, wouldn't have seen it if he weren't looking for it. There were two small windows on either side of the double doors, the bright evening sun making it impossible to see inside.

"You sure this is the right place, Sammy? Doesn't look like much to me."

"Yeah, this is the place. There are couple of specific things I'm looking for so we shouldn't be in there too long."

"We? No way, Sam! The plan was you go do your nerd thing while I have a drink. Take your time. I'll be next door drowning my sorrows."

"Actually, you agreed to go with me since I went to see the dinosaur tracks with you."

"That doesn't even count! I wanted to see dinosaur bones, not the damn footprints. So no way am I going to the bookstore." He knew Sam was up to something now.

"Well I don't know what good a bar will do. You can't drink while taking your pain meds. So you may as well come inside."

Parking the car, he fumed, preparing a well placed smack upside his little brother's head. "Well thanks for waiting until now to remind me of that little fact. This better be worth it or payback is a bitch."

"I told you I'd be quick. Now can we go in before the place closes?"

As they walked in the front door, he was surprised to see the store was much larger than it appeared from the outside, as large as many of the full priced stores he'd been dragged to over the years. "You said this was a used bookstore, right?"

"Yeah. Bobby recommended it. Said he'd gotten some good stuff through them, some of the hard to find texts. They're supposed to have a good selection of older books as well."

He figured he might as well wander the store and hope Sam was right, for the possibility of a hot girl to flirt with. "So where will you be when I get bored?"

"Either in the Metaphysics section or here," he said motioning to a section labeled Nostalgia. "The older stuff is collectible. I'll come find you when I'm done. It really shouldn't take long."

A quick look around, Dean spotted several possible targets, surprisingly all employees of the store. Two in particular were at a counter with the sign "Sell Your Books Here." _You may have something there little brother._ His trip around the store, noting where the Metaphysics section was and getting some coffee, didn't add any prospects to the list, so he wandered back to the front of the store, stopping one aisle before what he now knew they called the "buy counter". He grabbed a few car magazines, silently complained about the lack of seating, and settled in for a long wait. His brother always said he'd be quick in bookstores and never took less than a hour. Trying to look like he was concentrating on his magazine, he eavesdropped, bits of the conversation between the two women from before caught his attention.

"Hey Hannah, did you see the freaking sweet car parked out front?"

"Which one is it?"

"The only car out there worth drooling over. The '67 Impala in perfect condition!"

"A '67? I didn't see it, but I think I did see the hot guys it belongs to. One of them seemed just your type." That made Dean chuckle to himself. _Still got it, even fresh out of the hospital._

"Do think it's them? He didn't give us any way of recognizing them when they got here."

Dean's curiosity was suddenly piqued. He knew Sam was up to something, but had no clue what. _Maybe they have something to do with one of the possible cases._

"Darla, you know he isn't great with those kinds of details. Besides, Bobby wouldn't use the word hot to describe anyone, much less other guys."

_Bobby? What the hell is going on?_

"All he said was the two guys, brothers, would come in tonight. Said their names were...oh, crap. I know I wrote the names down somewhere."

Dean was pretty certain they were the expected brothers. _Now to go find and kill a little brother! _Before he could walk away, they started talking again.

"Wait, here it is. Sam and Dean. He said to expect them this evening. They're driving in from Glen Rose."

"Sam and Dean? As in Winchester? Damn, Hannah! Why didn't you say so sooner?"

"Winchester? You mean THE Winchesters? Bobby didn't say anything about that. The damn idiot. I swear I'll skin him alive the next time I see him."

It was still a surprise each time they came across someone who knew of them, someone other than the FBI. They didn't know how large the Hunting community was until they'd met Ellen and Jo, then Gordon and learned a little of what their father had kept secret all these years. It was nice to know they made enough of a difference to have a good reputation with other Hunters. But these girls didn't strike him as Hunters. He needed to go find Sam and get to the bottom of things.

* * *

It only took Sam about ten minutes to find what he need from the rare book section. In particular was a very old text on Early American Occult Practices and a spell book that was over a hundred years old. The Metaphysics section wasn't much help. Most of what he found was the typical stories of hauntings, cheesy urban legends, and books of love spells. He even found a book that supposedly taught the reader how to hunt monsters. _No wonder so many people think they can do our job._ Checking his watch, he realized it was almost time to meet Bobby's friends. He was headed to the front to find Dean when his brother rounded the corner, looking very determined. It was a look Sam didn't like aimed at him.

_Crap! Did he figure out why we're here?_

"Sam, we need to talk." His look went from determined to irritated.

"Okay. What did you need to talk about?" Sam tried to play dumb, like he didn't notice his brother was upset.

"In private, so I can kill you. Now!"

Sighing, Sam knew he was busted, but didn't know how much his brother knew. Someday he would stop underestimating Dean. "What do you want to know?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe you could tell me why we're really here and who we're here to meet. For starters."

"We're here for you." He knew that wouldn't be enough, but it might slow the irritation.

"For me? How are we here for me?"

Sam took a deep breath and prepared for the storm that would be Hurricane Dean when he told him the truth. "I've been worried about you, the way you are with the car. It's not natural. So I asked Bobby for a favor..."

"You talked to Bobby about this!?! Thanks a lot, Sam. Now I'll never hear the end of it."

"Would you let me finish? Anyway, I asked Bobby if he could help."

"Help with what?"

"Seriously, dude. Shut the hell up and let me finish!" He took another deep breath and decided to just come right out with the truth. "I asked him if there was a way to make a charm for the Impala, to protect it from be possessed again. You know, like the ones he gave us last month when I..." He couldn't even bring himself to say _when I shot you_.

"That wasn't necessary. I'm fine. The car is fine. We don't need to bother Bobby with it. That still doesn't explain why we're here, why those two girls I overheard are expecting us."

"Bobby sent us to them. They were going to help with the charms or some other fix. They...they're witches."

"What!?! Why the hell do we need damn witches? Are you trying to get us killed?"

"Dean, would you keep your voice down? They aren't that kind of witch. They don't serve demons. And Bobby completely trusts them. I wouldn't go to just anyone with this problem. Don't you think I know how much your car means to you? We need to go now. I'm supposed to meet them in about ten minutes."

"At least Bobby sent us to hot witches. They better not screw up my car or I'll kick your ass for it."

* * *

He still couldn't believe that Sam brought them to see witches, no matter how hot they were. Or that he agreed to let them anywhere near his car. _Maybe if I go along with this, Sam will stop asking if I'm ok and staring at me while I drive._

They were supposed to meet the girls at their place to get the needed supplies. If he were willing to admit to himself, he hoped the charm, spell, or whatever they were going to do to his car made a difference. He wanted to feel safe in his car and couldn't always depend on Sam being there. They had to split up on a lot of cases to get the research done quickly.

They pulled up in the driveway of a small house about thirty minutes outside the city. It seemed normal enough, except for the sound of chickens and ducks that greeted them. One of the witches, Darla, came out and waved them over to the house. As they got out of the car, he got a better look at the surroundings. The backyard was fenced in, several kinds of birds wandered the yards. The front had a little garden with fairies, gargoyles, and even a Big Foot statue placed throughout, nothing to suggest danger. "Hey, Sam. Check out your Sasquatch twin in the garden."

"Ha ha ha. Always so funny." Dean knew Sam hated some of the nicknames he came up with, but judging from the slight smile he tried to hide, the attempt at humor was appreciated. They'd had precious little since Glen Rose, maybe even before.

"Welcome to our little farm. Hope you found the place ok. It is a little out of the way." He was still surprised at how normal everything seemed.

"Yeah, no problem. The directions were pretty straightforward. What's up with all the birds?" Sam looked at him with that pissy face he made, expected him to say something stupid. He gave back a look that said _I promised I would be nice to the witches. Chill out._

"All part of having a farm. They lay eggs. Anything else you'd like to know?"

"Nah, let's just get the show on the road, so we can do the same." He couldn't let go of the idea of witches being evil. But everything he saw was the furthest from his expectations. "Though I do dig the Big Foot in the garden. Kinda reminds me of my brother." The pissy face returned.

"Thanks. Hannah will be right out with the ingredients. Nice car by the way. Does it have the original 327 or have you made the proper improvements?"

"She hasn't had the 327 for a long time. Completely rebuilt her myself about 6 months ago." _Ok, Sammy. I guess you might be forgiven. _As he talked, she walked over to the car and began a more thorough examination.

"Not bad. Looks almost like she came right off the showroom floor. No wonder you came to us. Gotta keep a beauty like this protected. I know we talked a little last night about what we'll be doing. It's a simple cleanse and consecrate spell. It should clear away any negative energy and protect it from future problems. The spell isn't permanent, so you'll need to watch how it is done."

"How often will the spell need to be performed?" Sam couldn't resist asking questions, knowing how every tiny thing worked. "Does it have to be done at a specific time? Can anyone do it?" As his little brother played twenty questions, he wandered up the front steps to the house. He needed to see inside, both out of curiosity and to make sure nothing suspicious was going on inside. As he reached for the door, the other woman, Hannah, opened it and invited him in.

"I promise you we don't bite. Unless that's what you want." She smirked as her comment obviously caught him off guard. "Nothing in here but the usual. Living room, kitchen, bedrooms, and lots of cats and dogs. Careful with that one, she likes to climb," she said as a little white cat with black ears attempted to crawl up his leg. "Bobbi, get down!"

He snorted and had to ask, "Bobby? You said she."

"Yeah funny thing about that. She and her brother Corbett were supposed to be barn cats. We thought they were both boys and found out we were wrong, so now Bobby is spelled with an I instead of a Y."

"She's about as scary as Bobby, though we like to let him believe we're afraid." He couldn't wait to give the older hunter a hard time about it. Named after an adorable, female cat.

"I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare say a word to him! He'd kill me, then maybe you for good measure."

"Ok, ok. Speaking of Bobby, how do you two know him? You don't seem like Hunters to me."

"We're definitely not Hunters, but we help when we can. Bobby was in town a few years back, working a local legend. Turned out to be the spirit of a young boy. He went to the only shop we have around here for ingredients. That's where we met. Darla and I just happened to be in the shop that day getting supplies for a protection spell for a friend. Darla is kinda nosy and next thing I knew we'd offered to help. Now he sends us Hunters he can trust that need our help. Some don't because we're witches. They think we're like those wanna-be witches who work with demons."

"Wait, I thought that was how it worked, how witches got their power."

"If you thought that, why are you here?"

"Because Bobby sent us. And Sam wants to make me all better. They trust you. Guess I figured I'd suck it up and just watch my back."

"Well, you don't have to worry. Real witches don't go in for that demon nonsense. It goes against everything we stand for, against our main guiding principle. We do no harm. None. Not to others, not to ourselves, none whatsoever. Any negativity we put out comes back on us three times worse."

"Huh? That is so not what we've come across in our research."

"Guess you might want to do more research. Or maybe ask a witch, a real witch. Ok, enough of that. What happened with the car that it needs the spell?"

Telling the woman what she needed to know, Dean made a mental note to have a talk with Bobby about a few things later. Things that both he and their father never bothered to mention to them. Though Dean now wondered if maybe their Dad didn't know as much as he always thought. He never did want to see flaws in his hero, but after discovering an entire community of Hunters existed that John failed to tell them about, it was time to see the man as the imperfect, human person he was.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: We've finally come to the end. Thank you to everyone who stuck with this to the end. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews. I never thought the end would make itself known. Or that real life would give it the time. But here it is, all from Sam's point of view.

* * *

Sam was glad when Dean walked up to the house. There were a couple of questions he wanted to ask that he didn't want his brother to hear. He was relieved to know there was something to do to help Dean with his car. Now he needed to know if they could help with him. Sam knew his brother was trying very hard not to let on, but the level of trust they had in each other wasn't back yet. Any time he handled a loaded gun, he could see Dean tense a tiny bit. It would be imperceptible to anyone else. Sam wanted Dean to stop being afraid of his little brother. It had taken so long after the incident at the asylum for the haunted look to leave his brother's eyes. He wasn't sure he could handle it again. Sam needed his big brother back.

"Darla, can I ask you something? Possibly about another spell."

"Sure, kid. What do you need?"

"Is there one to restore trust in another person? Can we do a spell to get my brother to trust me again?"

"Unfortunately, people aren't as easy. We can try to remove negative energies, but that's about it. The only way to get back trust with a person is time and talking things out. Why would you think he doesn't trust you?"

"Something happened recently." He wasn't sure how much he should say, decided on the truth. Bobby trusted them, so he would too. "I was possessed by a demon we'd previously exorcised. She used me to hurt several people, including Dean. Especially Dean. I shot him. Now he tenses when I pick up a gun. I can't blame him. But I don't want him to worry that I'll hurt him again. I'd do anything to fix that."

"Sorry, I wish I could do something. Maybe you should tell him what you just told me. He should know how you're feeling."

"Yeah, that's what Bobby said too. Guess I was hoping for an easier fix. Dean isn't the easiest person to discuss feelings with. No chick-flick moments is his cardinal rule."

"You could try one of those trust exercises popular in all the self help books."

"Because that is SO much better. No, but thanks." He didn't want to hurt her feelings, didn't mean to be so abrupt.

"Relax, Sam. That was just a joke. You couldn't pay me to actually read a self help book. Though poor Hannah has to shelve that garbage all day long."

He smiled sheepishly and said, "Sorry. This whole thing with my brother has us both on edge. Dean's been through so much the last couple of months. I only want to restore his faith in something, even if it isn't me."

"What happened with the car that has him so stressed? You didn't say much about it last night."

"We were working a case down in Glen Rose, a haunted intersection where two people died in a car accident. Turned out there were several spirits involved. One of them, the older brother of the kid who died in the accident, ended up taking over the Impala. He tried to kill both of us. Almost succeeded in killing Dean by running him over with his own car."

"Damn. It's no wonder he's freaked about his car now. I'd be afraid to go near it. I hope we can help in some small way."

"I'm happy he even agreed to let you help. He usually doesn't trust witches. At all. So there isn't anything we do for me? Maybe a spell to make him talk?"

"I don't think you really want that. What if it does work and he never shuts up? Don't worry. I'm sure, given time, that will work itself out."

"Yeah, but time is the one thing we can't afford. If he can't trust me in the middle of a hunt, that could have dangerous consequences."

"All the more reason to talk it out with him. Now let's get the car fixed first. Then we can work on that hottie of a brother."

Sam would never figure out how Dean attracted women just by being there. Following her up to the house, they went inside just in time to see something made Sam wish he had a camera on him. His big, bad-ass Hunter brother had two little black and white kittens perched on his shoulders. He tried not to laugh out loud, but couldn't resist, which earned him the death glare.

"You think this is funny? Here. You can have their little razor sharp claws digging into your skin for a while. Sam, meet Bobbi and Corbett."

He realized quickly Dean wasn't kidding about the claws. Even through three layers, they dug in painfully. "Ow! Damn it, Dean. That's not funny." Though the smile it brought to his brother's face, the first genuine smile in a long while, was worth a little pain. "Can we get back to business now?"

"Sure thing, Sammy. We were about to come outside with the stuff when you guys came in. Did you two have a nice time out there?"

Sam ignored the comment and the eyebrow waggle that went with it. "Is there anything you need us to do?"

Hannah responded as she handed a few things to Darla. "Nope. Just pay attention so you can do this again later. Of course, you're always welcome to come visit and let us refresh the spell. Now what else do we need? Darla, any idea where you put the cinnamon oil?"

"Me? You were the last to use it."

"No, the last time I used it was for that couple a few weeks ago, remember? They wanted the passion spell. You used it last week with the lottery tickets we bought. You didn't use the last of it, did you?"

"Crap! Maybe I did. But peppermint oil will work too. Do we have any of that?"

Sam was inwardly amused at the "discussion" between the witches. It reminded him of many of the argument he and Dean had, mostly over who's turn it was to do laundry and talk to victims families. The younger one, Darla was really a lot like his brother in some ways.

"Yeah, it's in the kitchen with the spices for baking. I bought some to make Yule cookies."

"Oh, I love your Yule cookies. You guys will have to swing by Bobby's around Christmas and try them. We send him batch every year, those and her shortbread cookies are to die for."

"Ok, ok, Darla. Just get the peppermint oil so these poor boys can be on their way some time this century. I swear, you get her on the subject of food and she'll talk your head off."

That made Sam laugh out loud. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Dean's just as bad."

"Hello! Standing right here. And I do not. Well, unless there's pie nearby. Do you make pie?"

Darla came back, peppermint oil in hand and they all headed out to the car. Sam and Dean stood back and paid close attention to what was going on, Sam making mental notes, glad that Darla would give them written instructions before they left. They'd barely started when Hannah, obviously frustrated and trying not to show it, questioned Darla about their supply of holy water.

"Oh, no. You aren't blaming that on me," Darla said, pointing back towards the house. "That was your sister. She used it for this exact same spell on her new station wagon. Maybe we can do the spell without holy water."

"You know we can't." Hannah looked ready to strangle her friend, but managed to control the urge. "Remember the last time we tried a spell out here without holy water? I don't want the spirits out here getting pissed at us again for messing up the energies around their garden. The spell will have to wait until we've made more."

"Actually, that's the one thing we can supply. We try to always have holy water on hand." Sam was glad they'd restocked right before their trip to Glen Rose, though not thrilled at the reason they'd run out in the first place. He wasn't sure how long it would take them to make a new batch. "Let me get it from the trunk."

Darla followed him over to get the holy water and whistled as she caught sight of the contents of the trunk. "Sweet collection you got there. Let me guess, that pretty little sawed-off is Dean's right? A crossbow? What good is a crossbow against ghosts?"

"Yeah, has a name for it and everything." Sam chuckled. She eyed the weapons like a kid in a candy store, like his big brother. "It's not. Works great on the corporeal stuff we hunt. Though truthfully, we've never used it. Dean just had to have it."

"Hey, I can hear you, you know! And I got the crossbow because you never know when we'll need it. Like the flare guns. Didn't think we'd need those until after that Wendigo hunt."

"True. So you have ghosts here? Anything you need us to take care of? It is what we do." As Sam reached for the holy water, he decided the shotgun loaded with rock salt wasn't such a bad idea.

"Nah, they're mostly harmless. The worst they've ever done is knock over the statues they don't like and chase away the coyotes." Darla paused, eyed the shotgun with caution as he handed her the holy water. "Don't think you'll need that, Sam."

"Don't worry. It's only got rock salt rounds. Gotta take precautions where spirits are involved." Sam wasn't taking any chances. Winchesters were magnets for trouble, lately Dean even more so.

"Just be careful and don't get the rooster. Stephen's already been kicked out of the backyard."

All of the ingredients collected, Sam stood back, Dean several feet from him and watched the witches work. First they walked a salt circle clockwise around the car. Next time around the car, they sprinkled the holy water in various spots on the car, quietly speaking words of protection. As they started the final circle around, noises came from the garden and yard around them. Sam saw a figure begin to coalesce near Dean and raised the gun. A look of fear from Dean made him stop suddenly. Before he could reassure his brother and take care of the spirit, Dean lunged at him, grabbing the gun and throwing them both to the ground. Sam heard a loud thump and a quiet curse from Dean. When he sat back up, he couldn't look his brother in the eye. However much he didn't want to believe it, he was proven right. Dean still didn't trust him, might never fully trust him again. Even grabbed the gun to make sure he couldn't shoot him again.

"Sam? You ok?"

The fear in his brother's voice was the final piece of evidence he needed. He was afraid to look and see the fear, that haunted look again. He was determined not to make a big scene in front of strangers. "Yeah, Dean. I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what? It didn't hit you, did it?"

"Huh?" Sam looked up at the question, not the one he was expecting. "How could it hit me? It was right next to you." Looking at Dean's expression, he realized the fear he'd heard wasn't fear of Sam. It was fear for him. The same look he always had when Sam was in danger.

"No, look. One of the spirits must've been pissed that you brought the gun to play. They threw a statue at you."

Sam looked to his left and saw the statue. _Of course it had to be the Bigfoot statue._ It was embedded in the ground just a few feet from him. "I thought..."

"You thought what, Sammy?" Dean looked genuinely confused. He also had a small gash on his temple that was bleeding freely. He took another hit meant for Sam and was only worried above his welfare.

"It's stupid. Forget it."

"Nope. Can't do that. You thought what?"

"There was a spirit right next to you. When I raised the gun to shoot it, you looked scared. I thought you were afraid I would shoot you again. I know you still don't trust me to have any guns around you. I've seen the flinches. I'm sorry."

"Damn it, Sam. How many times do I have to tell you before you believe me? I trust you. Always have."

"But the flinching..."

"I was afraid that it would bring up too many bad memories for you. You were a complete mess after Meg. I thought the guns might make you relive it all."

Sam should've known. Should have remembered how strong his brother was. Too much time away, wasted on a life he wasn't meant to have, made him forget that Dean's trust wasn't broken so easily. It would be tested on occasion, but not broken. He whispered a quiet thanks and tried not to tear up in front of the girls. Dean would never let him live that one down.

"You know, I miss when you listened every word I said, when big brother could do no wrong."

"Dude, I stopped being fooled by your crap when I was ten."

"Whatever, bitch. Keep telling yourself that. You might eventually believe it."

"Jerk."

From behind them, Hannah said, "Touching boys. Now can we finish this? Before you start anymore trouble."

Dean stood and offered Sam a hand up. They stayed out of the way and watched as the girls finished. The last time around the car, they drew pentacles on the hood, doors, tires, all the vital parts of the car and said the last few lines of the spell.

"Here," Darla said as she handed Dean a small crystal. "Keep this amulet in the car as added protection. It doesn't have to be visible. As long as it remains inside the car, it'll protect this beauty. The instructions on recharging the crystal are there on the page with the cleansing spell. That'll be a hundred and fifty bucks."

"What? You didn't say anything about payment!"

"Gotcha again, Sam. You're too easy." Sam blushed and laughed. He heard Dean laugh too.

"Always told you to lighten up little brother. Never did know a good joke when you heard one."

"That's only because you never tell a good joke."

They thanked Darla and Hannah for everything and gave them their phone numbers, in case they ever needed a favor in return. Sam was thrilled to see Dean look more relaxed than he had in a long time. Maybe they would be alright after all. As they left the little farm, Dean turned to Sam and said, "Thanks, Sam."

At a loss for how to respond to an honest thanks without the layers of sarcasm, Sam just smiled. "So, where to next?"

"I thought maybe you'd like another trip to the bookstore, one without a time limit. I know you didn't get to stay nearly as long as you wanted."

"Really? You don't mind."

"Nope. Then we can go to that auto plant. You know, take my baby to see where she was assembled."

Just to hear Dean call the car his baby again, to see the joy it brought him again, made the trip worth all the worry. And he knew once and for all that Dean trusted him as well. They were going to be fine, or as fine as a Winchester could be.


End file.
